Page 20 of This

The hot wind blows on our skin as we walk back to the truck. His hand finds my lower back when he opens the passenger door for me, and I brush against him, climbing in. Then he’s crawling in after me. I laugh, falling back on the bench seat with him following me down.

“What about the candles?”

“There’s a lighter in here somewhere,” he mumbles into my neck. “And we can drink the wine out of the bottle. The pillows can go under your sweet little head.”

“And the blanket can shield us from the kid watching from the car a few spaces over?”

He kisses his way to my lips before he checks to confirm. “Think of it as an added challenge.”

I push on his shoulder, and he sighs, crawling backward out of the truck.

Dane lives in a quietneighborhood with tree-lined streets and older houses. Ones built with actual character that look different from those on each side. Fences and manicured lawns and more than one car in most driveways. It’s where you expect to find already-established families, not someone who graduated college two years ago.

The inside of his red-brick bungalow almost mismatches the outside. Exposed brick borders the tops of the slate-colored walls, and wood beams run the length of the high ceilings that vault in the living room. In the kitchen, all the pots and pans hang from a rack suspended over a large island with a concrete countertop, and the cabinets are white and open.

“This was my mother’s house,” he says.

I don’t need to ask. The wordwasalways sounds different when referring to someone who died. It carries a heaviness or absence or both.

He hands me a glass of wine as I look at the pictures of him and her on the mantel over the fireplace. Her red hair caught the light, no matter the angle, and she had one of those smiles you couldn’t help but stare at, sincere and telling. The photos progress from Dane as a toddler to a teenager, not following his life past a certain point.

“You were still in high school,” I say.

“Just before graduation. She’d been in remission for over a year but only lasted a few months after the cancer came back.” He shakes his head, taking in the room like he’s seeing it for the first time. “She called this herMaison de la vengeance—Revenge House. Every time my father pissed her off, she would renovate a room and send him the bill. She made me promise to never sell it.”

“My kind of woman.” I eye him and sip.

“Oh? You like that idea?” He steps closer when I nod and sets my glass on the mantel. “Too bad you’ll never get one of your own.”

“And why’s that?” I start to back up, but he catches me and pulls me flush against him.

“Because I’m impossible to stay mad at.”

With a quick grin, he picks me up over his shoulder. I let out an embarrassing giggle as his arm tightens around the backs of my thighs. He carries me through the living room, swiping the plastic bags off the couch on the way. I land on my back on a bed, and he shakes the bags out next to me. The glass candles crack together, rolling toward me, but my attention stays on him dragging his shirt over his head. He lowers himself onto the bed and nudges the hem of my top up. It lands on the floor beside his shirt. I shove the candles off in the same direction.

“You won’t stop this time?” I ask.

We’re both on our knees, chest-to-chest, my arms around his neck while he unclasps my bra. He tosses it over the edge of the bed, and his eyes wash over me.

“The whole damn house can burn down for all I care.”

His mouth covers mine, and we fall back on the mattress. I push his jeans down until he kicks them the rest of the way off. One pillow flies over his shoulder, followed by the other. Item by item, our date goes in a pile along with our clothes. The mints go last, the container rattling when it bounces.

A hand slides between my legs, but his fingers barely graze over me. Even when my hips move to meet them, the contact remains minimal.

“Tell me you’ll stay for breakfast in the morning.”

The tips of his fingers conduct another pass before retreating, and I almost whimper.

“No sneaking out,” he says, “or leaving without a goodbye.”

My eyes close when his palm presses against me, but it disappears after a second.Torture.

“Say it, Bennett. Say you’ll wake up in my arms and eat shitty pancakes across the table from me.”

His eyes wait for mine when they open. He starts skimming his thumb in a circle, and I’m so done.

I blow out a frustrated breath. “Fuck me right now, and I’ll stay until lunch.”

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