Page 51 of Not Quite Perfect

“That I looked like a sweaty mess?”

I smiled, even though she couldn’t see it. “No. I thought you were like sunshine after a long, cold winter. One look at you and I saw warmth and happiness. I sawpossibility. After Stacia, I didn’t know if I’d ever feel that way again. I didn’t know if Iwantedto feel that way. And not a day goes by that I don’t recall hearing you cursing Faulkner’s name, and thinking to myself what a lucky son of a bitch I was that I had a reason to talk to you.”

She sucked in a quick breath, as if my admission startled her, but I kept on. “I want to be with you, Victoria, and nothing is going to change that. Not your job, or your mother, or these cats you seem to want.”

She laughed then, a real laugh, and the vice grip on my heart loosened. “Sometimes I think I dreamed you into existence,” she breathed out. “I just wish this was easier.”

“Me too, baby. But I’m not going anywhere.”

Suddenly, I had an idea.

“Actually …” I said, plans quickly forming in my head. “Weshouldgo somewhere. Let’s head to my place on Dobber’s Island this weekend.”

“I have a—” Victoria paused. “Actually, I don’t have anything. Yes, let’s do it.”

Twenty-One

Victoria

Maybe goingto an island in the middle of the Atlantic in deep winter wasn’t the best idea, I thought as I watched David try to light the fire. When we’d arrived earlier that evening to find his house freezing cold—a thin layer of ice on the window panes—a quick inspection of the furnace had revealed a flashing light that indicated a valve failure. Thankfully, he’d managed to persuade a repairman to come inspect it in the morning.

In the meantime, we had to find a way to stay warm. Unfortunately, the damp firewood he’d rescued from the basement wasn’t exactly cutting it either. We were no warmer for his efforts at starting a fire, and the living room was filled with the acrid scent of smoke.

“Shit,” he cursed as a piece of kindling smoldered and then snuffed itself out. On his knees, David turned to me. “This sucks. I’m sorry.”

“D-d-don’t be s-s-sorry,” I answered, my teeth chattering from the cold. “It’s not your f-f-fault the furnace is b-b-broken.”

David’s eyes flashed with guilt, and he looked away quickly, attempting to stoke the fire to life. “I was supposed to have it serviced at the end of the summer, but then classes started up again and it slipped my mind.”

I wrapped a blanket around my shoulders and moved off to the sofa to sit beside him. “D-d-did you know the f-f-furnace was on the fritz?”

“No.” He refused to look at me when he answered.

“Then there's n-n-nothing to apologize for. These things happen.”

David huffed out his frustration and dropped down next to me, staring blankly at the cold hearth in front of us. “I really suck at this.”

I laughed and set my head on his shoulder. “Finally, something you're bad at. You were starting to give me a complex.”

He chuckled lightly. “When I was a kid, I dropped out of Boy Scouts. Hanging out in the woods never appealed to me. I'd rather sit in my room and read.”

“Are you telling me you never learned how to build a fire?”

David looked away sheepishly. “I usually just use those fire starter logs, but even those were wet.” He poked at a soggy, paper-wrapped brick with the toe of his boot and let out a sullen breath as I burrowed deeper into his side.

Sliding my hands up under the fabric of his waffle knit henley, he gasped at my cold touch, but soon, he was pressing my palm to his flesh. That was all it took to ignite the fire inside of me. Suddenly, I had a very good idea how to make us warm.

I nudged him backward, until he was splayed out on the rug beneath me. “I once read somethingveryinteresting about how to keep your temperature up if you ever find yourself stranded in a snowstorm.” I scratched my nails over his nipple and he sucked in a breath.

“Oh yeah?”

I danced my fingers over the ridged line of his abs, pushing his shirt up as I went. “Mmm-hmm. Skin-on-skin contact is essential for heat conservation.”

David's palm found my hip and then dipped lower, past the elastic waist of my flannel pants and straight to the promised land as I worked the zipper of his jeans. Delving down, I wrapped my fingers around his cock. “We're supposed to make sure we're touching each other. Everywhere.” When I stroked upward, his eyes dropped closed and his hips lifted in time with the push and pull of my palm against his hot, hard flesh.

“God, I missed your hands.” He thrust up into my grip.

“And I missed this,” I said, sliding down to take him into my mouth.

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