Page 42 of Burn It Down

“Yeah. For the record, Hudson’s straighter than a fucking arrow, but I was ready to pound him for getting too close. It’s beautiful by the way.”

“Thanks. It took a long time. You’re a fan of ink, but don’t have any yourself?”

I shake my head.

“Needles and I don’t get along,” I explain.

“Yet catching a shard of glass in the neck and the smell of burnt flesh don’t bother you?”

My laugh comes out loud and carefree. It’s not a sound I make often. “I didn’tvoluntarilycatch that shard of glass. Besides, my adrenaline was spiked so high, I didn’t even feel it. And usually, we try to get to peoplebeforetheir skin starts melting off.”

We hang up our washcloths, put on fresh clothes and head back out to the kitchen. I’m popping the chicken back in the oven to heat it up while Dylan slides onto a bar stool on the opposite side of the counter behind me.

I hate the distance. Now that this thing has been acknowledged, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to go back to pretending like I’m not attracted to him. Like I don’t want him. Fuck, how am I supposed to ignore the fact thathewantsme?

I feel like our time is already running out, so taking full advantage of the opportunity in front of me, I walk around the counter, wrap my arms around his chest, press my lips to his shoulder, burying my face in his neck.

“Is this okay?” I ask, subconsciously gripping him tighter. “It’s been a while for me.”

“Mmhmm.”

His hummed consent does things to me. Opens up things inside of me I wasn’t sure I’d ever find again after tucking them away for so long. Him being comfortable with my proximity to him, my need and desire to claim him, is overwhelming.

His chest is strong and defined and I want to spend an eternity learning the contours of his pecs before moving to his biceps and tracing the veins that run down his arms with my tongue.

“You smell good.” I plant another kiss on the side of his neck, letting my tongue linger in an attempt to savor his flavor.

“It’s your body wash.”

“I like it better on you.” I’m gushing like a middle school girl and I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck.

“Jake.” I hate the tone he’s using. It feels like this is already over. “We need to talk about this and I can’t concentrate while you’re inhaling me like I’m a Bath & Body Works store.”

“Bath & Body Works?” I ask, totally confused.

He smiles and pats my hands where they’re clasped together over his chest, craning his neck to kiss my cheek.It feels so natural.Like we’ve done this a thousand times before and it’s not strange or new that I’m holding him. “It’s like a Gucci or Dior fragrance store for us middle-class folks.”

“Oh.”

He tugs at my hands in an effort to release himself and I feel the loss worse than when the NASDAQ fell four percent a couplemonths ago, costing me and my clients a combined threebilliondollars.

“Where are your plates?” he asks, sliding off the stool. “Let’s dish up and talk.”

I sigh in defeat, not ready for a breakup speech while I’m still reveling in my post-orgasmic glow.

The look on my face must be flashing my emotions brighter than a neon sign in Vegas because Dylan grabs my hand and pulls me behind him even though we’re only walking twelve feet around the bar. He stops in front of my double ovens and slides his hands up the sides of my face, his thumbs stroking my cheeks.

“Don’t look so sad. I didn’t say this was goodbye. I just said we need to talk about it.”

Hope springs anew in my chest and I feel the smile spread across my face.

Nodding, I point to the cabinet on the left of the stacked, double ovens. “Plates are in there.”

We dish up and both decide to forgo wine with dinner. We want clear heads for this conversation, not to mention, we drank most of the afternoon.

Feeling needier than I ever have in my life, I turn to Dylan, shocked at how much I want to tell him what I want, no beating around a bush or pretending like I’ve got all my shit together.

“Can we eat at the bar? There’s too much space between us at the table.”

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