Page 63 of Don't Fall

He doesn’t answer. Just focuses on parking the car. We’re home.

It’s not until he’s taking my hand to help me out of my seat, that he takes me in, eyes sweeping over my body until they land on mine, drawing me into him without physically doing anything. His lips brush mine softly, grazing over them to find my cheek and kiss it tenderly before his mouth reaches my ear and he whispers, “I’m not resisting anything about you, Tess. Quite the opposite. I’m surrendering.” His fingers tenderly twine into mine, and we make our way upstairs, my head resting on his shoulder while we walk. I’m kind of mesmerized by the shift that’s occurring between us and entirely terrified of what it will mean after tonight. And whether either of us will even admit that it’s happened once the night is over.

Lane

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing with Tess, but I know I can’t stop it any more than I can stop myself from wanting her for myself every time I look at her. Every time I think of her. And Goddamn it, I think of her a lot.

Even now, sitting here with her curled up in my lap, feeling her breathe in and out against my chest, I’m thinking about her in a million different ways. How perfectly she fits into my side. How tightly she nestles into me. How fucking amazing she smells. How much I love the sight of her in my faded, stretched out old tee-shirt and how badly I want to rip it right off of her.

I wish the thoughts ended there. That’s where they were supposed to stay. They don’t. Because seeing what’s under that shirt isn’t my favorite thing about her anymore. It’s seeing what’s beyond that, seeing her. Every time I catch a glimpse, all it does is feed the addiction. Hook me harder.

“I bet we could make that,” she mutters, pointing at the screen.

I force my gaze away from her to see what she’s talking about. “Those Asian taco things? I’m sure we could. I’m not sure I want to...but given a basket of ridiculous ingredients, I’m sure we could create something just like that.”

She tips her head back to look up at me. “You don’t want to devour that plate?”

I stare back at the screen, just in case I missed something, then back at her. “They didn’t feed you at the firefighter shindig, did they.”

“Not so much, no.”

“Come on,” I half-lift her out of my lap, half guide her upward. “Let’s see what we have here to make.”

Her eyes light up. “Can I pick four random ingredients from the pantry to surprise you with?”

It’s hard not to grin like a total fool just taking in the sight of her. “Uh-huh.”

“Yay!” She claps her hands, speeding up and making a beeline for the pantry. It takes her several minutes and a few quiet discussions with herself, but she finally comes over to the counter, placing down each of her secret ingredients in front of me.

“I have here for you, some bowtie pasta, some artichoke hearts, a bag of chickpeas and marshmallows.”

I glare at her. “Marshmallows? You seriously want me to incorporate those in your dinner?”

She shrugs. “Our pantry is way too cohesive. It was the only thing I could find that would present even the slightest challenge.”

I take the fluffy white sugar nuggets and place them on the other end of the counter. “I’ll come back to those later,” I promise. With chocolate and graham crackers in the desert round.

In addition to what she’s already got out, we track down some fresh greens and tomatoes in the fridge and several cloves of garlic she keeps tucked in the spice rack. Then, we get cooking.

While I manage to stay within the allotted time frame, she dings me for not including the marshmallows, but promptly announces my moving forward into the next round the second she has a bite.

It’s nearly two in the morning when it hits me, lying on the floor across from her, watching her eat a s’more, chocolate sticking to her bottom lip while she laughs at herself trying to lick it off and missing repeatedly.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.” I start for my room. “And don’t touch that chocolate.”

When I come back a second later, she’s not even remotely where I left her. “You suck at taking directions.”

“You should know they sound like orders to me and bring out my inner two-year-old, instantly prompting me to do the exact opposite of what you said.”

I point at her face, smirking. “Then why do you still have chocolate all over your chin?”

She grimaces. “Damn it. I thought I got it.”

“Nope.” I unzip the bag I brought out here with me.

“What’s that?”

“My camera.” I take it out and show her, already snapping my first picture.

“Whoa. What are you doing?” Immediately, her hands fly up to cover her face.

“Hands down, Tess,” I order, for real this time.

She makes a face at me, but lowers her hands just the same.

“Good.” I point at the place she was sitting before. “Now go back to pretending the camera isn’t here.”

“Yeah, okay.” She rolls her eyes as she plops back down to her spot on the carpet.

It takes a while, but eventually, she does forget. And I take my sweet time capturing every perfect moment unfolding before me. The way her head dips back when she laughs. How her eyes always travel twice around the room before she can hold my gaze. The way she massages her right thigh when she’s been sitting too long because it gets tight from running all the time. And that contented warmth in her face that surfaces every so often when we’re together, not doing anything at all.

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