Page 83 of Better Late Than Never

“I know, right? Especially…” I gestured around us. “A lot of Spanish food is pretty simple. I had tapas in Sevilla once, and it was literally just caramelized onions and goat cheese on baguette slices.” I chuckled. “I must’ve ordered like eight plates of them.”

“Ooh, I had something like that in Sanlúcar. If I ever get the hang of caramelizing onions at home, I’ll never leave the house.”

“You don’t know how to do it?”

“No, no, I do.” He rolled his eyes as he picked up his glass. “It just always ends up FUBAR.”

I laughed. “Sounds like me and basmati rice.”

“What? You can’t cook rice?”

“No, I can. I just… fuck it up. I don’t know how or why, but every time I’ve tried to make it…” I waved a hand.

He chuckled. “Everyone has their Achilles’ heel in the kitchen, am I right? My son’s girlfriend gets so irritated because he’s pretty decent in the kitchen, but any kind of short pasta—like penne or whatever—he just cannot cook it right.”

“Well, that balances out her being a weird morning person, doesn’t it?”

Connor laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that, but I’ll tell her that next time she complains about his pasta.”

“Fair’s fair.”

“Exactly.”

Shortly after that, our food arrived, and it was exactly as incredible as it smelled. The steak was a perfect medium rare, and the fries were exactly the way I liked them—not overcooked or oversalted. We shared averygood bottle of Spanish wine, and this was just… perfect. The warm night. The excellent food and wine. The peaceful surroundings.

And of course, the company.

I tried not to let myself think about how romantic this felt, or how easy and right it was for us to spend yet another relaxed evening as a couple. What that might or might not mean.

Itriednot to.

But I failed.

* * *

“Between dinner, the long-ass day, and everything we did earlier,” Connor said as he lay back on one of the two beds in our room, “I don’t think there’s going to be much happening tonight.”

I slid up next to him. “You thinkI’vegot anything left?” I dipped my head for a soft kiss. “This is perfectly fine with me.”

“Good.” He wrapped his arms around me. “I like this part anyway.”

Sinking into his embrace, I grinned. “Do you?”

“Well, yeah. I like not sleeping alone.”

“Me too.” I hadn’t thought I would—hadn’t thought I could relax with someone—but I craved these nights together. I kissed him gently, and we both let it linger for a moment. “Maybe we’ll both feel up to more tomorrow. Assuming we don’t wear ourselves out walking to and through the Mezquita.”

Connor huffed a soft laugh. “I think we’ll manage.”

We shared another kiss, and then we settled in to go to sleep, his back against my chest and my arm around him. He laced our fingers together, and before long, he was out cold.

I wouldn’t be far behind, but my whirling mind kept me awake a few minutes longer. Partly because I was overthinking everything, and partly because I wanted to savor this quiet closeness. I’d done a lot of hooking up over the years, and not every guy was prone to cuddling with hookups. Some did, some didn’t.

Connor had, from the start, loved being as close as possible, and I was hooked on it. Even when we weren’t going at it, I liked it when we were touching. I couldn’t get enough of it, honestly.

Maybe because there were so few opportunities for it. We had to keep a safely platonic distance between us whenever we were out in public. The only time we could risk a touch, however chaste, was behind closed doors.

Maybe that was blurring the lines of what fuck buddies were supposed to be doing. Whatever. I was too tired to think too hard about it.

---