Page 121 of Light My Fire

Fuck. She knows what she’s doing to me, reminding me of… everything. Fucking little flirt.

“Not the word I’d use, no,” I tell her.

“I guess it’s good I have a sister-in-law who knows exactly what it’s like to be with three men.”

I hear our driver cough slightly.

I sigh. I guess, if we’re really going to do this, we’ll have to get used to other people’s reactions. And not caring about them.

Brooke reaches over, laces her fingers with mine, and rests our hands on my thigh. “The no touchingat alldoesn’t work for me. I’m kind of a touchy person,” she says.

“What if I’m not?” I ask, though I make no move to withdraw my hand.

“I think you will be with me,” she says.

She has no idea the things I want to be with her. I want the right to run my hands over her ass in public. I want to kiss her anywhere, anytime. I want to make her laugh. I want to be her first phone call when things go right, or terribly wrong.

“But you’re right,” she adds. “Consent is sexy and it goes both ways. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Can I hold your hand, Luke?”

Fuck, she can do whatever she wants to me. Even break my damned heart.

“Yes,” I tell her. Then I lift her hand and kiss it.

We pull up to our stop a few minutes later and I get out, keeping her hand in mine and helping her from the car.

“Oh wow,” she says, looking around.

The lights of downtown shine all around. The buildings are lit up and there are street lamps and lights strung from poles around this section, where it’s clear there was some kind of event earlier today.

“It’s so pretty,” she tells me, after she’s spun a three-sixty.

I can’t take my eyes off of her, of course. I love my city, but I’ve lived here all my life. I’ve seen the downtown lights hundreds of times. Hell, I’ve fought fires amongst these lights. I love seeing it through her eyes. And I realize that I want Brooke toloveChicago. So much that she wants to stay.

“Come on, there’s more,” I tell her, keeping her hand in mine, completely unwilling to let go of her now.

We start down the sidewalk and I tell her about everything in the park—the fountains and art displays and gardens—and that we’re only a couple of blocks from the lake.

“I’ll bring you back during the day, when it’s warmer too.”

She presses close to my side. “I’d love that.”

Yeah, I just implied there’s a future in the warmer weather. So sue me.

We make it to the main attraction I wanted to show her.

“Oh, that’s beautiful!” she exclaims as the Cloud Gate statue comes into view. “I can’t believe I’ve never been this close to it.”

We walk up to it. “This is called the Cloud Gate, but it’s better known as The Bean,” I tell her.

She grins. “I can see why.”

The shape of the iconic statue makes that obvious.

The gigantic silver structure reflects the scene around it and at night is aglow with the lights from all sides.

We stand, just watching it and the people around for a few minutes. It’s a weeknight, and the weather is still brisk, so there isn’t a crowd, but with spring in the air, Chicagoans are starting to come out of hibernation and we’re hardly alone.

Brooke shivers slightly and I move behind her, wrapping my arms around her and resting my chin on her shoulder. “Are you cold? Do you want to go to the brewery?”

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