Page 52 of Capitally Engaged

“I did. And it took every dollar I had, and then some, making installments with jobs I worked during grad school. I missed out on making connections with my cohort, because I was always working or catching up on schoolwork. But my grandma’s memory pushed me to keep going.

“I needed some way to make money after graduation and the best man at my parent’s wedding had a connection in political reporting, so I took it. He tried to check in on me afterward, but I felt so ashamed of accepting his help I dodged his calls and eventually he stopped trying.”

We sat there in silence for a moment, before Preston broke it. “So the late-night work?”

“It took about three months of being a low-level reporter for me to realize I was going to lose my soul and my mind if I didn’t find another outlet. So, I set up a pen name and started publishing romance novels. I wanted to keep my identity a secret, so I would be taken seriously in my day job.

“I’ve published ten novels over the last five years. I feel just on the cusp of making it, being able to write full time, but I keep having these setbacks. A paper will close, or a temp job will end, or I’ll need to find somewhere new to live. The books get done, but the rest of it—the marketing, the outreach—falls away. Because it’s just me. I’m on my own.”

Preston scooted over so he was next to me, reaching out hesitantly to take my hand. “Do you want to be on your own?”

I looked down at our fingers, how they fit together. Howwefit together. Two people who started essentially as strangers in four hundred square feet. “I haven’t tried it another way for a long, long time.”

We sat, gazing into the bright afternoon sunlight. I saw the families walking around the reflection pool—brothers chasing sisters, teenagers pretending they were too cool for a family trip. I watched people running, checking their watches as they rounded the bend to the next part of their route. Were they checking a message from someone they were hurrying to get home to? Even the eccentric man spouting philosophically about the end times from a folding chair gathered attention, if for just a fleeting moment.

“I write happy-ever-afters, but there are no guarantees in life. People change. Peopleleave.”

“I know.” Preston wrapped his arm around me, tucking me into his side. I leaned my head on his shoulder. Even my skittish heart couldn’t deny the way this felt right. “I get scared too. But I think what I’ve realized over the past two months is that I’m even more scared not to try.”

We sat like that, watching as the shadows changed and the clouds moved by. Nothing ever stayed the same, but in new light, things remained beautiful.

Neither of us had the energy to bike, so we caught a ride share back to Eastern Market, where Preston dropped the bag and reusable containers off in a box left for just that purpose. As we turned to continue on, I said, “I can’t decide if I want a cup of hot chocolate, a shower, or a nap when we get home.”

Preston stopped in his tracks, his fingers slipping from mine after his stalled momentum pulled on my arm.

“What? What’s wrong?”

He looked at me, eyes wide in trepidation. “You called it home.”

I played back the moment as my hand touched my lips, as if I could trace the words I uttered. It was a small thing, removing the word home from my vocabulary. Back to “my place,” or “my sublet,” or even “my pad” when things got really wacky. But never home.

With eyes wide, I dropped my hand from my mouth to reveal a smile, my gaze catching his. Preston took two giant steps forward and captured me in a fierce embrace. His mouth came down on mine as if only my lips could provide his oxygen, like a diver resurfacing for air. I wrapped my arms around his neck, squealing into the kiss as his grip pulled me off my feet.

The kiss slowed, and I grabbed either side of his face, keeping us nose to nose. “Let’s go home.”

We somehow made it through the door of our apartment in one piece, knowing an indecent exposure charge wouldn’t help anyone.

“Too. Many. Buttons,” I said, working at his shirt, meeting his eyes with a smirk before—riiippp—I popped those buttons right loose.

“I thought you said that was harder than it looked,” Preston said as he wrestled with my jeans.

“I guess I just needed the right motivation.” I helped him push my jeans down my legs, stumbling as I tried to step out before my feet were free.

“Whoa there, steady. Concussions and sex don’t mix,” he joked. His voice sounded lighter than it had in days. I hated his feelings had been dragging him down. I wanted to help fix that.

“So,” he said, running his fingers up my sides, under my shirt. I shivered at the touch. “Do you still want hot chocolate? A shower? A nap?”

“I’m not ruling out the need for a nap. But later.” I bent down to bite his nipple, earning a hiss in response.

“Okay. Bed. Now.” He picked me up, hands cupping my ass, forcing my legs around his waist. The rough fabric of his jeans rubbed against my thigh. These would need to go. I tried to reach between us to undo his button and zipper.

“Whoa,” he said, taking three more steps with me firmly crushed against his body before dumping me on the bed. “The apartment’s small, but I still can’t magically transport from one spot to another. I don’t want to drop you.”

“So particular with not wanting to drop your fiancée,” I joked, trying to use my feet to push his jeans down his hips and off. He helped me, finishing the job and taking his boxer briefs with it. His cock slapped against his stomach as he stood back up, and he grabbed it in one hand, giving it a few quick strokes, catching a bead of wetness from the tip on his finger.

“Gimme,” I said, opening my mouth, clamping down on his finger as I sucked the drop of precum clean. My tongue swirled around the tip of his finger for good measure, earning a guttural moan from where he leaned over the edge of the bed. He pulled his finger free with a pop, running the damp finger down my collarbone and circling my nipple, tightening the already hard bud into a tall point.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Preston stood with one foot on the floor, the other kneeling on the bed next to my legs. I felt like I could float away without his weight to ground me.

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