Page 125 of Forever Then

There’s something else.

A question, actually.

Me

I’m a woman with answers.

I chance a glance his way, but his chin is dropped to his chest, eyes intent on his screen. At last, he lifts his gaze to me from under hooded lashes a beat before my phone pings.

Connor

How about that date?

Chapter Forty-Two

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Gretchen

At six on the dot,Connor knocks on his own front door.

Butterflies take flight in my stomach as I clasp my dangly turquoise earrings and prance toward the door like a giddy teenager.

He left for the gym a couple hours ago, announcing he would get ready there, while I got ready here. Since I’m still living out of my suitcase and desperately need to do laundry, I opted for a pair of light denim shorts with a frayed hemline paired with a short-sleeve, coral, linen shirt that I’ve left unbuttoned down to my navel, revealing the white tank underneath. A pair of brown leather sandals finish off the outfit and I’ve kept my hair down in long, loose curls.

I swing the door open as wide as the smile on my face.

Connor leans against the doorjamb, hands in the pockets of his gray shorts, his broad shoulders and trim waist filling out his black V-neck t-shirt in the best way. The scruff along his jaw and aroundhis mouth, still untouched by a razor, screams at me to run my fingers through it.

His throat bobs as his baby blues give me a thorough inspection. “Well, look at you, Fish.”

I curtsey playfully as he steps inside. “Ah, ah, ah. I don’t invite guys inside my place on the first date.”

He rubs his lips together, eyes twinkling. “Oh, so this is your place now?” I smile. “You ready for our first date?”

“I’d say it’s about time. What big gestures do you have up your sleeve? I already don’t see a bouquet of flowers.” I roll my eyes. “But there’s still time to redeem yourself, I suppose. Fireworks? Private viewing of a Broadway show? Bottle of Don Perignon?”

“No, nothing like that.” He pinches my waist and I collapse into him as his arm hooks around my back. “Because you”—he bops my nose—“don’t like big gestures.”

I hum out a contented sigh as his mouth drifts closer. “Says who?”

“Says the guy who knows you better than anyone else,” he whispers.

“You’re really gonna milk that one, aren’t you?”

“Just stating facts.” His hand cups my jaw. “I’m not supposed to kiss you until the end of the night.” He pulls me in tighter. “Will you let me kiss you before it even starts?” His husky whisper is but a breath tangling with mine as he runs his hand down the column of my neck. “A little one?” His hand moves until his fingers knot in my hair and my eyes flutter shut. “The smallest kiss, I promise.”

“Connor?”

“Hmm.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Our lips meet. He hauls me into him and my back arches, but his body follows, never losing an inch of connection. I angle my head, our mouths open, tongues greedy and seeking.

I throw one arm around his neck while my other hand kneads into his chest where I can feel the feverish beat of his heart. When he brings his hand down to meet mine, intertwining our fingers, they squeeze tight with the restraint I’m unable to find at themoment. The hand at my back moves down the backside of my shorts, his fingers finding the skin of my leg right below the hem before he takes my ass by the handful and tugs me up and into him, impossibly, ruthlessly even more than I was before.

Our lips give chase, a vicious circle of clashing tongues and teeth that I never want to end. I want to glide my hand down to where I know he’s hard for me, but his grip on my hand is solid, not letting me move an inch in that direction.

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