Page 91 of When You Had Me Adapting

Tanner: What happened

Donovan: Did the car plan work?

Logan: I’d say it worked.

Enzo: What happened?

Jacks: I don’t kiss and tell.

Tanner: Letsssss fuckkkkinnngggggg go dude

Tanner: So what now

Jacks: I don’t know. I left. I need to get my shit together and show her what a future with me is like and I need to do it before the end of the month.

Enzo: How can we help?

Jacks: Logan, can you check with Poppy and see if Lacey still likes dahlias?

Logan: On it.

I back out of the parking lot and head to my apartment. The entire drive, my head is consumed with thoughts of Lacey—the way her hands felt on my body and the taste of her tongue. I waited ten years to kiss her again, and I would gladly endure every lonely night I faced in the last decade if it meant I could do it again.

Fuck, I wish I could have stayed. Laid her down on her bed and worshiped every bit of her body, but then I had to come in my shorts and ruin the moment. I try to remind myself that even if that hadn’t happened I have things I need to do before we go further.

I walk through the front door of my apartment and find Tanner sitting on the couch watchingIron Man.

“I can’t believe you kissed her,” he says, pausing the movie and sitting up a little straighter. “How are you feeling? Want to talk about it?”

“Nope.” I turn and head to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me.

CHAPTER 42: DO IT FOR THE PLOT

LACEY

Iremember kissing Jace Jackson, or at least I thought I remembered what kissing him was like. When I broke up with him, I grieved not being able to kiss him again and then promised myself to forget. Buried the feelings his kiss gave me deep inside me so I could try to move on, but it didn’t work.

For a decade I’ve been searching for someone that could make my body come alive the way he could and I never found it. It didn’t matter who they were or what we did, it always felt less than, mediocre, not good enough, or bland. They became a name added to the list of men who despite their best efforts couldn’t make me come.

And then he came back into my life like a goddamn wrecking ball and I don’t know what to do with this new information because kissing him was nothing like I remembered it being. It was so much better. And then that motherfucker kissed my forehead and left me up against my bedroom wall breathless with the taste of him still on my tongue.

Now, I’m standing in my bathroom, looking in the mirror, and wondering what in the actual hell just happened and how I feel about it.

My hair looks freshly fucked, which is completely unfair because he left before I got off, and to be honest, it wouldn’t have taken much more for me to come right there dry-humping him while standing.

I replay the kiss in my head. Him leaning on the door frame. His backwards hat and those piercing blue eyes. His tattooed, brawny arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him. His hand tugging on my hair.

Fuck, I liked when he pulled my hair.

His dick straining in his shorts against my most sensitive spot. It felt big. I think I remember it being big. I mean I may never have slept with him, but I wasn’t a prude. We did other stuff, but never went all the way.God, why can’t I remember what it looks like.

I splash some water on my face and wipe it away with a towel.Dammit, why am I trying to visualize his cock? Get it together. It was just a kiss.

My phone vibrates on the counter and startles me from my thoughts.

The Tortured Therapists Department

Wren: Lace, did you stay dry on the way home?

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