Page 66 of Tell Me Again

Chapter Twenty-Five

Coop

I’m not sure there’s ever been a place more comfortable than Josh’s arms.

After we get cleaned up, there’s some sort of wordless agreement that we need to get back in bed, and I find myself curled up next to him, his arm around me and my head settled in the crook of his shoulder. I pull the comforter up around us and close my eyes, and he seems to suck in a short breath before kissing the top of my head. And it just feels so fucking good, so fucking right.

I move my hand to rest on his stomach, and he sets his hand on top of mine, his thumb stroking back and forth over my skin. And neither of us say anything. I’m not sure there’s anything that needs to be said right now.

Later, of course. There’s a lot to say later. There’s a lot to figure out. Like—fuck—when is he going back to Omaha? Shit. I don’t want to let myself think about that right now, though. Because we’ll have to figure it out. We’ll have to figure something out.

He must feel me tense up or something, because he starts caressing my forearm, this light touch that’s just so incredible and comforting. And he kisses the top of my head again.

“I love you,” he murmurs into my hair. He shifts us so we’re lying on our sides, facing each other, and then his hand continues a path up my arm, across my chest, and up to my neck. And he draws us together for a gentle kiss.

I’m completely fucking overwhelmed right now.

Honestly, I might be close to tears. I really don’t want to cry. Why the fuck would I even be crying? I’m fucking ridiculously happy. But I feel tears at the corners of my eyes.

I pull away and lower my head to rest against his chest, and his hand’s now rubbing my back in long, soft strokes. Fuck, it’s good. I feel good.

I’ve never felt this good.

“Tell me again,” I say quietly.

And he kisses the top of my head, pulls me tighter against his chest, and whispers, “I love you. Always.”

I feel myself nodding, but I also might be shaking. It’s understandable, right? All these intense emotions? And I’m also suddenly feeling quite tired, like I could just fall asleep right here, pressed up against his chest. It’s warm and comfortable, after all. So, so comfortable.

That’s probably what happens, because the next thing I know, I’m waking up to a darkened room. And an empty bed.

Fuck.

It’s a brief moment—only a few seconds, really—that my heart starts racing and there’s this nauseating drop to my stomach. But then I hear noise coming from out in the kitchen—the clinking of a pan on the stove, maybe, and someone humming.

Fuck. My fucking heart doesn’t need to be doing things like that to me. He’s not going to leave. Not this time. I believe that. I believe him. Or at least, I’m trying to.

I drag myself out of bed, throw my clothes on, and head down the hallway, pulling my cell phone out of my pocket to check the time. Just after six thirty. Shit. Somehow, I’d slept the whole afternoon away. I wonder how long he’s been awake.

His humming stops when I step out of the hallway. He’s in the kitchen—cooking up something that smells incredible—and he glances back at me over his shoulder, grinning.

“Hey, sorry, I was getting hungry, and you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you up,” he says.

He sets down the cooking spoon and turns to meet me as I shuffle into the kitchen. A couple of grocery bags sit on the counter next to a cutting board and knife. There’s a small pot of rice on the stove and then a pan with strips of beef plus green peppers and onions all in some kind of sauce. Stir fry, I guess.

“Looks amazing. You cook?” I look from the food to him, and he’s still smiling at me, but his eyes have softened or something. Shit, there’s that thing happening in my chest, and it’s warm. I’m warm.

I don’t wait for him to answer because I just really, really need to kiss him. I reach out and run my hand up his forearm—thanking whoever invented sleeves that can roll up, because holy fuck, I love his arms. Then, we sort of move together, and his lips are on mine, his hands sliding up my chest and clasping behind my neck.

“Mmm, yeah... I cook,” he says between kisses.

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.”

His tongue explores my mouth, and he moans into the kiss as he presses himself up against me. Fuck, he’s already hard. I am too. And suddenly my body’s tingling all over, and it’s almost an ache, a need.

He pulls away a second later, groaning, and he turns back to the stove. “Sorry. I gotta finish this. It’s almost done, but I don’t want the sauce to burn.”

---