Page 87 of Dreaming of Dawson

He smiles. “You don’t need to do anything. You just need to be here. That’s more than enough distraction for me.”

“Does that mean you won’t be able to concentrate on giving me an answer?”

“No. What’s the question?”

I lean back as far as the wall will allow and study his face, needing to see the truth in his response. “Have you stopped drinking for good?” I ask.

He takes a moment and says, “Yes.”

“Why did you hesitate?”

“Because I wasn’t expecting you to ask that.”

“You assumed my question would be about Stevie?”

“Yeah.”

I nod. “I’m not saying I won’t have questions about her… just like you might have questions about James, but for now, I need to know if you’ve taken your last drink.”

“I have.”

“And was your decision to stop drinking a factor in your offer to sell the bar? Were you suggesting it so you could step away from the temptation of being surrounded by alcohol all the time?”

“No. That had nothing to do with it. I offered to sell the bar for the reason I gave you. It was because you had a problem with me being your boss. I couldn’t fire you, like your ex’s uncle did. That would have made me no better than him… even if my motives were completely different.”

“So, you offered to sell this place instead?”

“Yeah. The offer still stands. I’d sell it today, if you needed me to.”

“I don’t,” I say, resting my hands on his bare chest.

“Were you worried about me drinking?” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper, with a hint of fear behind it.

“I was concerned about the level of self-destruction you were putting yourself through.”

He moves closer, placing his feet on either side of mine. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, capturing my face between his hands, and leaning in to kiss me. “I promise,” he says, his lips brushing against mine. “I promise it won’t happen again.”

“You won’t be tempted?”

“No. Never. I’ve got too much to lose.”

“Like what?”

“You.”

I lean back slightly, looking up at him. “I was never scared of your drinking… never worried by it. My only concern was the damage you were doing to yourself.”

“Maybe, but I still don’t wanna put either of us in that position again.”

He kisses me again, grinding his hips, water splashing onto us, as his tongue caresses mine. I can barely control my breathing, his body hard, yet his touch so delicate, and I’m wondering if it would be rude to actually ask him to make love to me, when he leans back and stares down into my eyes.

“I—I know you said we should wait,” he says. “But I’m ready.”

I glance down at the narrow space he’s made between us, at his long, thick erection, and then raise my eyes to his again. “I think that much is obvious.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about love.”

“Love?”

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