Page 57 of Those Two Words

The act of him dressing me makes me blush. Not the fact he was going down on me over a pool table in a public place moments earlier, but the tenderness in his touch. How he’s domineering and filthy one minute, and sweet and considerate the next.

Finding the energy to push myself off the table, I settle my top back in place. My body is heavy and weightless. As I turn around, I worry what expression I’ll find on his face. Regret like that afternoon at his house?

What I find when I turn around surprises me. There’s not an ounce of regret in sight. His eyes are glazed over, pupils wide, hair mussed from my hands, and lips glistening from me. He looks relaxed, if not a tiny bit bashful.

Me, on the other hand, I don’t know what to do. Where to look or to put my hands. I curse myself for offering this up as a one-time thing. I watch as his hand comes up to brush a few strands of hair from my face, his thumb grazing my cheek.

“I don’t know if this makes me better or worse at pool,” I joke, sounding like some stupid British aristocrat. He brings his lips to my forehead and laughs against my skin. When he pulls back, I see some uncertainty in his eyes as he thinks his next words over.

“Hey, are we good?” I ask.

“What does this mean for us?” He doesn’t miss a beat. A question for a question.

My next words are all lies, and it’s stupid of me to even suggest it. Shrugging, I avoid his gaze when I mumble, “Just for tonight, remember? It doesn’t mean anything. A moment to get whatever is going on between us out of our systems.”

He’s instantly in my space, hands cradling my face. “No. I want this, fuck, I need it. What if this is our last chance? I want to give this a go. To really try.” I go to open my mouth, but he presses his forehead to mine, silencing me. “I know there’s a lot of unspoken history between us, and that’s not me trying to rush you. More than anything, I want to see where this could take us, and I don’t want to hide from it. Please tell me this isn’t one-sided. I don’t want just for tonight, love. I’ve already had that and it wasn’t enough. It will never be enough.”

I shake my head, hoping I look relaxed despite my heart beating erratically in my chest.

I’m an idiot for even suggesting it. Because it took only one night for me to realize I wanted all his nights.

I run my fingers along my swollen lips. The lips Patrick just kissed.

Or did I kiss him?

I look up at my best friend, still hovering above me. His face looks shocked and wild; probably mirroring my own. Not because it didn’t feel good, but because it felt so good.

A kiss with your best friend of over twenty years is meant to be awkward, right? Like you’re kissing your brother. It wasn’t anything like that. And maybe this is the bourbon speaking, but I think it felt so good because I’ve imagined doing it before a hundred times over.

“Jesus. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry, Jo.” He groans and throws himself back on the arm of the sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

“Why are you sorry?” I’m certainly not sorry he kissed me. The way my lips still tingle and heart races upholds that.

“Because you’re drunk and?—”

“If you say you took advantage of me, I’ll knee you in the nuts.”

He lets out a deep chuckle and his head drops forward. His eyes are ablaze, tracking my movements as I shuffle toward him on my knees. I reach out and trace his slightly crooked nose, before leaning in closer.

“I’m not sorry,” I whisper. “And I’m not sorry for this.”

The kiss is tentative at first, checking to see that the first time wasn’t a fluke. Then we dive right in. He groans into my mouth and moves me to straddle his lap. The kiss becomes eager, messy, and so, so right.

“Do you want this? Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels this pull between us?” he asks against my skin, his lips skating across my collarbone now. Soft kisses to teasing nips.

“More than anything. I’ve wanted this for so long,” I confess.

When he raises his head to look at me, his pupils are so wide, his eyes look more black than green. “You have no idea how long I’ve wished to hear those words.”

Without breaking the kiss, he stands and walks us to his bedroom.

That was the night that changed it all. Nothing was one-sided, that was made clear.

The dance we’d spent years choreographing finally came to an end. The one where we tiptoed around our feelings or found ourselves with the wrong partners.

I was ready to dance with him forever until it was cut short, and the music stopped.

But here we are, ready to take those steps together again. We need to take it slow, and I’m unsure who is taking the lead. I just hope this isn’t our final dance.

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