Page 54 of Take What You Want

But my mind doesn’t operate like that.

“You make it sound so easy,” I say bitterly.

“Why can’t it be?”

“You aren’t worried about it? Like at all?”

“Why worry about something that we can’t change? And months away?”

A heavy sigh racks my chest, and I start to pull back, shifting to the other side of the car. But before I can get far, Nikolai bands an arm around my waist and flips himself so he’s on top of me.

“What are you?—”

“Shut up and let me quiet that beautiful, racing mind of yours.”

And as the credits begin to roll, he silences all troubled thoughts about distance and our diverging paths with gentle kisses down my neck and sweet nothings whispered in my ear.

He makes me forget momentarily how utterly terrified I feel about falling in love with him…and knowing we don’t have much time left.

13

NIKOLAI

Jane’s scent clings to me, even a week after the Fourth when she found me hiding away in the sound booth and sat with me through the night.

I was prepared for it to be a bad night. While fireworks used to bring joy and celebration, they send me back to the darkest part of my life now. And even though dogs and people alike hate them, there are still those lucky enough to not confuse them with gunshots and can enjoy them.

My solution was to get drunk, lock myself away in the booth, and blast rock music until I passed out.

And it was going well, until Jane came in.

I hated to let her see me like that, but it wasn’t the first time. Not even the second time.

I shake my head, not allowing myself to go there again.

The awkwardness that hung in the air between us those first few days she was here has dissipated since that night. It melted away with every shift of our bodies that brought us closer, made each other hold the other tighter, and the silent understanding that we didn’t need to speak in order to communicate.

She wanted to be there for me, and I wanted to soak in every ounce of comfort she was willing to give. Being that close to her again was like tasting a drug of choice after years of sobriety. Scary, exhilarating, and all-consuming.

I can’t get her out of my head, her scent out of my nose, and her touch off my skin.

It doesn’t help that she’s currently striding into the kitchen in a matching silky pink pajama set.

The material clings to her thighs and the swells of her breasts as they jostle gently. Her pink lips part in a yawn as she half-heartedly greets me and heads directly for the coffee machine.

She drinks her coffee black now.

Something I had to learn the first morning I made her breakfast and was so proud to present her with a cup of coffee just the way she liked it. Hazelnut creamer and 2% milk.

She drank it, but then politely informed me how she takes it now.

Something so simple has changed over the years, and I didn’t know it. Didn’t know all of the details aboutherlike I used to.

She pours herself a cup and leans against the counter, holding the mug with both hands as she blinks bleary eyes at me.

Bacon and eggs sizzle in a hot skillet while I butter a few pieces of toast. “Looks like you could use another hour of sleep.”

“Try three.” She snorts. “Is that for me?” She points to the plate I pile food on and slide across the counter.

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