Page 67 of Four Weekends and a Funeral

“I have no idea if you can, but I know you sure as hell don’t want to if you can’t force yourself to walk along Lake Superior for an hour.”

“What are you even doing here?”

“I thought you’d be hungry.” He stumbles. “You said you were coming over here tonight, and after what you told me on the phone, I didn’t know why I wasn’t…why we weren’t…” He trails off, pressing his mouth into a hard line. Vulnerability seeps into his expression before it hardens again. “So I got in my car and drove. I wasn’t thinking.”

He tears at the plastic around the paper plates, turning it over and over, unable to break through.

I step toward him, my body itching to be the smallest bit closer to his. “I’m glad you did.”

His hands give up on the plates, and his dark eyes find mine. An unreadable expression clouds his features. “Yeah? Even though I interrupted you and him—planning your romantic trip under the stars?”

“Digging a hole to poop generally doesn’t constitute traditional romance.”

For a moment, we don’t do anything but stare. I’m buzzing with adrenaline.

“Are you jealous?” I ask, accessing every composed molecule in my body to keep my voice even.

His throat bobs as his eyes search mine. The dark quiet of the apartment covers us like a sheet. We’ve never been here at night. I’ve never been completely alone with Adam at night. He closes the distance, his eyes trained on my lips. He raises his hand, and I stiffen in anticipation of his touch. I’m so aware of every breath, of every inch of my skin.

His eyes scan my face, begging for answers, before they return to my mouth. My breath catches and my heartbeat thrums in my ears. It’s all I can hear aside from the rhythm of Adam’s steady inhalations. Phantom sensations skitter across my front, and I wonder what my nipples would be doing if they were here. Pinching, I imagine. I can almost feel it.

His breath is hot on my cheek, and suddenly, I can’t move. If I move, he might too, and it would be an absolute tragedy to be standing any more than a single inch from Adam Berg.

Friends don’t stand this close, I think. They don’t drink my beer or look at me with such unbridled desire.

I hear his slow swallow.

“I thought you didn’t want this to get confusing,” I ask.

His other hand tunnels into my hair and my eyelids flutter at the feel of his strong fingers coiling around my curls. My eyes lower to the corner of his mouth that hooks up when my body responds to him. “Are you confused?” he asks, his voice gravel. The gold flecks in his irises glimmer under the kitchen light.

“Adam,” I whisper, a secret.

“Alison,” he says, a plea. He wraps a strand of hair around his forefinger, anchoring himself to me. It pulls me a millimeter closer still.

Where the truck felt like a spontaneous crash, we both know this moment is different. This is deliberate. This is a choice. A point of no return. I tilt my head up to him, and with agonizing slowness, he presses his lips to mine.

He’s soft and tentative at first, as if I might still pull away. The careful caress of his mouth tugs at my bottom lip, and I murmur a sound of pleasure.

“You like that. Interesting…” I inhale his words until he presses his lips to mine again, deepening the kiss. Our mouths become desperate, searching for satisfaction. Adam places his hand firmly on the small of my back and pulls me against him.

“Tell the truth,” he growls, kissing down my neck. When his mouth meets the spot his finger grazed in Duluth, every cell in my body vibrates. He smiles against my throat. “Did you really like that beer?”

“No.” I squeal in surprise, digging my fingernails into his biceps. “I shouldn’t pucker at every sip. It’s unsettling.” He rewards my honesty with a warm laugh against my shoulder that melts into my bones.

“I knew it.” He straightens to his full height and smiles down at me, his eyes hooded and wild. “I knew you hated it.”

He grabs me by the hips and places me on the kitchen island like I’m lighter than air, his mouth claiming mine again. Heat clenches my center, and Adam separates my thighs to press himself against me. I wrap my legs around his body, aching to be even closer.

In a split second of awareness, I worry about the pizza next to me, but I’m quickly distracted by want. It’s an animal, alive in my chest, clawing at my insides. It wants to possess more of Adam’s mouth. More of his touch. More. More. More.

I gather the front of his shirt in a tight fist when his hand slips under my regrettably punny sweatshirt, skimming the sensitive part of my hip. His other hand stays firmly at my waist like it’s all he has to steady him.

I didn’t know a kiss could feel like this, like devouring while ravenous. Like lifesaving breath while drowning.

His firm hand travels to my front, and I feel the pressure of his palm on my breast. Panic instinctually builds up my spine but evaporates into a puff of smoke at the vibration of his hungry groan into my mouth. If he can register the difference in my topography, it’s not dampening his enthusiasm. It’s the first time a man has grabbed my new breasts with such fiery passion, and I can’t help but grip him tighter, needing more contact.

“I’ve been thinking about this all week,” I pant through hungry kisses.

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