Page 46 of Just One Moment

Slappingmy hands together,Ibring the tips of my fingers under my chin, with an ear-to-ear grin on my face.

Afterplacing an order of coffees to go, they say their goodbyes.Therest of my shift goes by quickly, and beforeIknow it, it’s closing time andI’mon my way back toGraham’sapartment.

Allof my things have been packed up until the van is repaired.Wheneverthat is.Ican’t afford forRickyto start work anytime soon, and it breaks my heart thatNellyis stowed away in a damp, cold garage without me.Apartfrom my suitcase of clothes, my kitchen, living, and bathroom pieces have remained in boxes inGraham’sliving room since we collected them a couple of days ago.

Only, whenIstep into the apartment, they’re nowhere to be found.Andneither isGraham, who is probably out for a run.Hemust have moved the boxes into my bedroom while he was working from home today.

Notthinking much of it,IrefillCurly’swater bowl and get started on dinner.Ilived up to my word and have been making dinner for the two of us; tonight we’re having tacos.Afterpulling out all the ingredients from the fridge,Iopen a cabinet, but instead of plain white plates and bowls,I’mmet with shiny pink ceramic.Pickingone up, my eyes drag over the palm tree print painted across the plate.

UnlessGraham’staste has dramatically changed, these are my plates.

Dashingto the next cabinet,Iwhip it open.Alongsidehis plain white mugs sit two cactus-shaped ones.Inthe silverware drawer, the utensils have been replaced with my rose gold ones.Everycupboard, every drawer in the kitchen is filled with my things.

Ipivot on my heels, run into the living room, and come to a sliding stop.Pom-poms.Are.Everywhere.

Mycushions are placed perfectly on either end of the sofa—he’s even karate chopped them.Mylavender-colored blanket is neatly folded over the back of it.LittletrinketsI’vecollected over the years are randomly set on the small coffee table.

Thethumping in my chest increases in tempo with each new find, but whenIspot my brightly colored photo frames on his shelves,Istruggle to breathe.Heunpacked all my belongings and placed them around his home.

Butwhy?

Thesound of the front door opening echoes through the apartment.Myfingers drift toward my mouth to stop the tremble of my lips.

“Oh, hey.”Thethud of his sneakers and heavy breathing nears closer. “Howwas your day?”

Withmy back still to him,Iraise a shaky hand toward the sofa, and croak, “Youunpacked my things?”

Thepad of his feet gets louder as he steps up beside me. “Yeah…is that okay?”

“Why?”Hisarm brushes against mine, the heat of his skin searing through my long-sleevedT-shirt.

“DidIoverstep?Fuck,Idid, didn’tI?I’msorry,Quinn,Ishould have asked.Ithought it would make this place feel a little homier for you.Iknow how upset you’ve been over your van.I’llput it back.”Hesteps in front of me, reaching to collect the blanket.Myhand clamps around his sweaty forearm, stopping him.

Hishead slowly turns, eyes dropping to where my fingers are wrapped around his arm before they travel higher until our gazes meet.Witha tentative step toward him,Iclose the space between us, his spicy scent mixing with the fresh air and something mouthwateringly masculine.

“Youkeep doing all these nice things for me, andIdon’t know how to repay you.”Myvoice is barely above a whisper.

Herelaxes a little, but there’s tension brewing in his muscles.Alot like the rubber band of my self-control that is ready to snap. “Idon’t need you to repay me.Seeingyou smile makes me…it makes me feel good.”

Abead of sweat runs down the length of his neck and over hisAdam’sapple as he swallows deeply, before it disappears beneath the collar of his athleticT-shirt.WhenIlook back up, my thighs clench.Thoseusual mossy-green eyes might as well be void of color with how blown out his pupils are.They’renot lacking in emotions, though; they burn with desire, want, and tested patience.

ThingsbetweenGrahamandIhave started to blur since that kiss in the bakery and each day, he seems to shed a layer of nervousness and self-doubt.

Rightnow,Ican see the war going on in his head.

Hewants to kiss me as much asIwant him to do it.

Iwasn’t lying earlier;Grahamis very much a gentleman.ButIdon’t want that side of him in this moment.Whichis whyIreach up with both hands, grip his cheeks, and slam his mouth down to mine.

It’snot a sweeping kiss like the one we shared the other day.Thisis fever inducing.Obliteratingthe lines between us.Nota drop of hesitancy as our tongues tangle together.

Adeep, hungry moan vibrates from low in his throat, and his hands fall to my hips to tug me close until our bodies are flush.Ilean into his strong chest, the pounding of his heart beating against my own as he bends at the waist.Hishands haven’t stopped roaming my body from the moment our lips touched, and from how they keep drifting back to my butt, squeezing and cupping each cheek,Iknow he’s an ass man.

GoodthingIhave a lot of it.

I’mso swept up in it all,Idon’t realize he’s spun us around until he’s gripping the backs of my thighs and hoisting me up on the back of the sofa.Thisnew angle allowsGrahamto stand between my open legs, our mouths now at the perfect height.

I’mbreathless, yanking at the front of his sweat-soakedT-shirt to stay upright as he kisses the ever-loving shit out of me.

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