Page 66 of Waiting For Fate

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, swinging one of her legs over my waist to straddle me. “But if you die of boredom, I am not to be held accountable. You’ve been warned.” I push her sweatshirt up, allowing my hands to rest on the bare skin of her hips.

“How could I ever be bored with you?”

I pull back up to Leah’s house after going home to shower—and put on something a little more comfortable than the three-piece suit I wore over here last night—feeling more excitement than one man should over spending a simple Sunday with a simple girl.

Simple, but extraordinary.

Extraordinary because she is the only person in the world that has ever given me butterflies, the only person who set up camp in the forefront of my heart and mind and refused to leave—even when all hope felt lost of having her in my life somewhere other than just my imagination. She grabs my attention the moment she enters a room and captivates me in a way that makes me want to get completely lost in her.

Simple because those are the things she enjoys most in life. A beautiful sunset, the way water crashes against a riverbed, or a well written plot twist—simple. It never has taken much to make Leah happy, but that’s not going to stop me from trying to give her the whole damn world.

I hop out of my truck, slamming the door shut with my elbow—careful not to spill any coffee—and before I’m even halfway up the driveway I can hear music blasting from inside.

I manage to knock on the door with my foot and hear her yell “Come in!” The music only grows louder once the door is open and I can hear the unmistakable voice of Lana Del Ray.

I make my way through the house, setting our coffee down on the kitchen island before Leah reappears in the living room with a laundry basket in tow. She has on a pair of light gray sleep shorts and a lavender sweatshirt, with her hair still damp from her shower and her glasses perched on her perfect nose.

She smiles at me as she continues to sing along to the song pouring out of the Bluetooth speakers mounted in the corners of her living room. I take a seat on the barstool, crossing my arms over my chest watching as she sways her hips and folds some of her T-shirts. She doesn’t let me stay there long before she walks over and pulls one of my hands free, spinning herself beneath my arm. I quickly fall in line, pulling her closer to me, taking her other hand in mine as I spin her around the living room.

Her laugh is so carefree and her smile so content but they both shift into a look of shock when I start to sing one of the verses with her.

I never made it a habit to sing in front of other people, but when I see the way Leah’s eyes widen and her mouth pops open, I assume those who have told me that I can were right. I bend down to kiss her, loving the way she stands on her toes to reach me better. I pull her legs around my waist and when her tongue hits my lips, I wrap one hand behind her neck and eagerly let her in.

We stay like this until the song changes and when she goes to pull away it takes everything in me to let her. I swear I could kiss this girl forever and never grow tired of the feeling of her lips on mine.

“You can freaking sing?!” She clears her throat and slaps my chest, clearly amused by this new revelation. She slides down my body until her feet hit the ground again and when she steps away, I turn to grab our coffees off the island with a shrug.

“Eh, can’t everyone?”

“Not like that, no. You should hear Max on karaoke night,” she snickers, taking a sip of her coffee before setting it down on her coffee table.

“Okay, what can I do?” I clap my hands together, raising my brows eagerly.

“Sawyer, you really don’t have to do anything.”

“Pfft. Are you kidding me? The faster we get all this shit done, the sooner we can snuggle up on this couch and you can read this amazing book to me.” She rolls her eyes playfully when I pick up the book I got her for Christmas that’s sitting on the coffee table. “Someone really great must have gotten this for you.” I plop down on the couch and grin. She begins pulling more laundry from the basket and folding it as I flip through the book, careful not to let her bookmark fall out.

“You really like it though?” She side-eyes me as she shakes out a pair of blue jeans.

“Are you serious? That book is kind of the whole reason we’re together,” she giggles.

“And here I thought it was my charming, good looks and persistence in breaking you and the ferret up.”

She frowns. “The what?”

“Never mind.” I slam the book shut and turn it around, looking at the blurb on the back.

“To answer your ridiculous question, yes. I love it. Laura Pavlov has been one of my favorite authors for forever.” I catch the playful smile on her lips when she answers.

“What’s your favorite book by her?” Roll my head on the back cushion of the couch and notice the distant look on her face. Like she’s thinking really really hard about her answer.

“Too hard to pick a favorite or?”

“Always Mine. It’s the first book in one of my favorite series.” Her answer is clipped as she shakes her head and goes back to folding her laundry.

“Cool. I’ll have to read it sometime.” I toss the book back on the coffee table and she glares at me. “What’s next on the agenda?” I reach into her laundry basket and pull out the first thing I touch, which is—much to my delight—a pair of her underwear.

Not just any underwear though, a pair of black, silk underwear that I now can’t stop picturing her in. I clear my throat and see the moment her face goes from focused to panicked. She tries to snatch them from me, but I pull them back where she can’t reach them.

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