Page 89 of Rewind It Back

His responding groan vibrates against my body and God, it just feelsright. No awkwardness, no figuring it out tentatively, because I’ve been kissing this boy since I was sixteen. We were the ones who taught each other how to do it. It’s second nature at this point.

His mouth is warm and soft yet unyielding. Firm in the way he knows what he wants. A little messy. A little untethered. A little unhinged. And there’s a whole lot of eagerness from both our sides.

I circle his forearms, tracing the hills and valleys of muscle there, following the lines of veins bulging under the skin.

Slowly pulling away from my mouth, he rests his forehead against mine.

“Fuck,” he breathes out against my lips. “I missed this, Hal.”

He opens his eyes to watch as I run my hands up his ribs, right against his racing heart and chest, feeling every shallow yet hard-earned breath.

“Please don’t stop,” he says, but it almost comes out as a whimper. “Fuck, I missed the way you touch me.”

I take my time touching him, feeling him, really exploring him for the first time since he’s grown into this new body. My fingertips toy with the fabric of his shirt, pressing it flush against the skin by his chest and ribs. The white material is so thin, I can almost make out the black ink below it.

Too soon, Rio circles my forearms, moving my hands to run up his chest and neck, for my fingers to slide into the waves that are flipped out under the nape of his beanie. He closes his eyes again when, of my own accord, I move my hands to bracket his face and pull his mouth back down to meet my own.

He hums this satisfying sound and God if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve heard.

Rio’s hands move, one gliding around my neck, fully surrounding it, his thumb stroking the pulse point there. The other slides between me and the door, his palm cradling my ass as he pulls me into him.

In all the times we’ve kissed before, he’s never kissed me likethis. Like it’s the first time he’s come up for air in years. It’s frantic. It’s full of longing. But he has no idea how muchI’velonged for this. How I spent most of the past six years wanting exactly this.

Wanting him.

Wanting him to change his mind and find me so I could explain everything and hope to make him understand. Hope to make him forgive me. Hope that he’d wantusagain.

And just like that, I remember I’m kissing the man I’m still heartbroken over.

He must sense a change in me because he slows things down, or maybe I do, I don’t know. The kiss becomes softer and more tender, almost a bit apologetic. He gently runs his hand over my hair, down my neck, and over my rib cage as if he were committing it to memory. Then that same hand moves around behind me before I feel him slip something into the back pocket of my jeans.

“Please don’t say anything right now,” he whispers against me, seemingly knowing I was about to put a stop to all of this. “Just let us have this moment.”

Words are stuck in my throat anyway, so I simply nod against him.

Behind me, he opens the door to my house and it’s only then I realize he unlocked it and slipped the key in my pocket.

He pulls back, puffy lips, heavy eyes, flushed cheeks. His expression is sweet and full of longing as he takes in every inch of me.

“Let’s not overthink this,” he pleads, seemingly to be giving himself that same advice. He strokes his thumb over my cheekbone, finishing with one more gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

Then he leaves me speechless in the doorway of my house before crossing the lawn to his.

Chapter 18

Hallie

“Tyler’s renovation show starts filming its new season in two weeks from Monday,” Tina says during our weekly design meeting. “So, if we’re not in the office, it’s because we’re on set. But of course, I’ll have my phone on me at all times.” She checks the clipboard in her hand. “And the last thing on the agenda for today is project check-ins. Hallie, how’s the DeLuca project coming along?”

Every person sitting around the conference table turns in my direction.

“It’s... coming along.”

Clearly, that’s not enough of an answer, because Tina stares at me to continue.

I fiddle with the yellow note in my hands. “The initial concepts will be finalized this week, and once Mr. DeLuca signs off on them, the crew can start the demo.”

The name “Mr. DeLuca” feels strange on my tongue, but referring to him as Rio in front of my colleagues also feels too informal.

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