Page 108 of Forever Then

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I laugh, kissing her once more. “Today was a good day.”

Her lips smile against mine. “The best.”

Our appetizers arrive and Gretchen excuses herself to the bathroom. As she walks away, I catch a table of dudes looking her up and down, Gretchen totally oblivious to the fact that she’s the most beautiful woman in every room. All tan skin, long legs, black hair draped effortlessly down the middle of her back and big eyes as sweet and rich as chocolate.

And now I’m wondering what we’d look like with matching forehead tattoos.

I cutmyself off the minute Gretchen ordered a second margarita. After the emotional day she had, she needed to let loose. The ever-present glass of water I refilled between each margarita was as much as I could do to keep her from drinking herself into regretting her choices this morning.

She peaked at slightly tipsy before I suggested we call it a night. But what I now know is that slightly tipsy Gretchen equalsexcessively handsy Gretchen. If I wasn’t so obsessed with the woman, I’d say I was taken advantage of last night. After I was sufficiently groped in the elevator—no complaints from me—we weren’t two steps inside our room when she started trying to undress me. I quickly grabbed her by the wrists, pressed them above her head against the wall, kissed her hard and told her she wasn’t allowed to touch.

Naturally, she called me a buzzkill and I told her she’d never been more beautiful. Then, I slapped her on the ass and ordered her to get ready for bed.

God, I wanted her to touch me, though. I want everything with her, but not like that. Not when she’s not fully sober and not before she knows how much I love her. I’ll no doubt be lusting after her until the day I die, but I don’t want our first time together to happen in a lust-riddled haze that we could wake up from tomorrow morning and wish had happened differently.

Gretchen played dirty when she put on one of my t-shirts to sleep in. Hanging down to her upper thigh, she wore only a pair of panties underneath. Side by side at the bathroom sink, she jutted out one hip as we brushed our teeth, our eyes unashamedly roaming over each other in the mirror. That messy bun and those glasses almost did me in, but I held my ground. For about thirty more seconds, that is, before she spit into the sink, rinsed her mouth, turned to me and said, “Well, if you won’t let me touch you, the least you could do is touch me.”

Tipsy Gretchen is also no-filter Gretchen.

I smiled at her through my suds-filled mouth, toothbrush perched out the side of my lips. A second later, I spit into the sink, tossed my toothbrush aside, grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her onto the counter to give her exactly what she wanted.

After she came on my fingers, I kissed her tenderly and sent her to bed. She was fast asleep by the time I finished my shower.

I climbed under the covers and wrapped my body around hers. And, miracle of all miracles, it’s the exact same position we find ourselves in—glory be,I’m fully clothed—when the ring of her cell phone wakes us up.

Gretchen groans into my arm. I clear the hair away from her face, kissing her temple. “It’s probably your parents calling to talk to the birthday girl.”

She smiles lazily before reaching for the phone.

“Hey, Mom,” she answers, still half-asleep as she pushes herself up against the headboard.

I use the next few minutes to brush my teeth, splash my face with water and collect Gretchen’s gift from my suitcase while she talks to her parents.

“Drew’s good. He’s not here right now though.” Gift tucked behind my back, I give her a curious look and she waves her hand to say she’ll explain later. “I’ll tell him you guys said hi.”

I climb back into bed as she ends the call.

“I guess Drew never told them that he didn’t end up coming. I don’t know what to do other than pretend things are fine.” She shrugs, worry carved between her brows over thoughts of her brother back home.

“Hey,” I say.

She looks at me, features softening.

“Hi.”

A grin lifts her cheeks as she collects her glasses from the bedside table and puts them on. “Hi.”

“Happy Birthday, baby.” I set the gift wrapped in tissue paper on her lap as her eyes flicker with surprise.

“Hang on.” She moves the present back to my lap. “I need to brush my teeth first.”

“Why?”

“Because I know I’m gonna want to make out with you after.”

I give her a long once over as she settles against the doorjamb. One hand moves the toothbrush, elbow propped on the arm she has wrapped over her middle. Hip popped out, wearing my t-shirt and nothing else, she knows exactly how good she looks—like my sexiest fantasy and greatest accomplishment all rolled into one.

When she’s done, she bounces back into the bed and sidles up next to me. Gift back in hand, she peels back the tissue paper, her expression leveling as she moves the last bit of wrapping aside.

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