My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(47)

Then he kisses my neck.

I can feel all his held-back words in that kiss.

I don’t know what they are, but I swear he’s imprinting them on my skin. Things he’s afraid to say but he’ll speak with touch instead.

Or maybe I’m just feeling the endorphins raging through me.

And for the first time in my so-called sex life, I can definitely say I’ve had book sex. “I don’t feel weird now,” I say.

He smiles against me then laughs, soft and husky. “Good. Me neither.”

His smile fades though. His gaze turns serious. “Can I sleep in your bed? With you? As in…with you?”

“You’d better,” I say, and I can’t wait to share the only bed in the compartment with him.





23





THE ANTI-CUDDLER


Axel

I’ve never written a rock-star romance, but I think I could pull one off now.

This must be what it’s like to perform an epic concert, bring the crowds to their hold-up-the-lighters feet.

What a rush. What a high. As I savor the view of postsex Hazel, still sandwiched between the train door and me, her smile dopey, her skin flushed, I feel like a fucking hero.

Because of her. Her reactions. Her words. Her screams.

I’m dying to ask: Was that the best sex of your life too? Because holy fuck, that was more than the best sex of mine. It was you. I have been crazy for all of you—that smart mouth, that beautiful brain and your-bigger-than-you’d-ever-admit heart for far too long.

I should gather clothes and get ready for bed. But I can’t stop looking at her, searching for the answer in her eyes.

She blinks, then stares back at me, smiling, then laughing a little woozily. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. You’re not doing it anymore.”

Good. Maybe she’ll forget I stared at her like a lovestruck fool.

After a long exhale, she runs a hand through her lush red locks, “I feel like…”

I wait for her to finish. For a breathless moment, I imagine she says I feel like I’m falling.

I’d say join the club.

“A shower,” she says instead.

Right. Yes. I orient myself to the new task—wash up. “Shower’s good,” I say.

I dispose of the condom and follow her to the tiny bathroom, but I don’t touch her while we shower, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad, or just practical.

But at least we’re clean, so there’s that.

A few minutes later, I’m getting into bed with Hazel Valentine. We’re half-naked—I’m in boxer briefs; she’s in a tank top and undies.

What. Do. I. Do. Now?

Am I allowed to touch her under the covers? When I asked to share the bed, she said you better. But on the other hand, she’s told me she’s not a cuddler. Is the bed a no-touch zone?

This is why friends shouldn’t fuck.

It’s like doing math without a calculator—a surefire guarantee you won’t get the right answer.

I stall, adjusting the pillow, even though I know what I want to do next. Curl toward her, kiss her neck, run my fingers down her arm, tease her. Maybe tell her how I want to use Give me your dick in a book because it was the best combination of words any person has ever said to me. I could tell her I want to make her feel amazing all the damn time.

She stretches her arms above her head, and I indulge in the still-surreal sight of this woman, including that bare shoulder I’m dying to kiss. But if I kiss her the way I want, will she know I lied when I told her I’d been attracted to her for years?

Fine, fine. It wasn’t technically a lie. But it was only the iceberg tip of the truth—this is so much more than attraction for me.

As she settles under the duvet, her ridiculously contented sigh answers one question. The sound is inviting. And hell, I earned that sigh. I drove her wild. I made her come hard.

Enough questions. I’m taking what I can get tonight.

I shift closer, my heart pounding, then I kiss her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’m not a cuddler either.” I murmur against her soft skin.

“Good to know I won’t have to pry you off me in the middle of the night.”

“I’m very well behaved in bed.” I layer a trail of kisses down her collarbone. While I’m here, I steal a few more kisses, like I’m stuffing food into my pocket to eat later when I’m cold and hungry. She stretches and moves with me, encouraging me to keep going. That’s not helping, her responsiveness. It only makes me dizzier, makes my tongue looser with words like you feel so good to me, and I want so much more.

But I wished on a fountain that I would make it through this trip without telling her the truth of how I feel.

The truth would ruin us all over again. I’m only now getting her back as a friend. I can’t lose her again.

I didn’t even realize how much I needed her in my life until a few days ago. Not gonna fuck up this repair job by blurting, You’re the one.

With that decided, I cease kissing, flopping back on the pillow so I can just enjoy being with her like this. “In addition to being opposed to cuddling, I’m not a cover hog, and I don’t snore.”

“I don’t steal sheets or saw logs either,” she says, chin up.