Page 52 of About Yesterday
The wall was cold against the back of his head as he tipped back. “You are devious. If you ever decide to let me live out a few fantasies, how will I ever know if you’re faking it or not?”
She nibbled her bottom lip and pushed off the wall, brushing her hands over his abdomen as she moved toward the door.
He took her hand and held gently.
She paused and gave him a teasing look.
“Look, Trace, I’m so sorry that I keep messing up. That I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. I’ll stay home next weekend, so you can have fun at the wedding. Without me there to throw off your rhythm.”
She turned back toward him and cradled her hand over his jaw, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip, the gesture becoming rapidly familiar and he realized how he’d never imagined the small show of affection, how much more it meant than… well, more than fucking. Sort of. He froze, afraid to move, or she’d stop.
Distracted by his mouth, she pressed just hard enough to tempt the hell out of him before releasing him and dropping her hand to his middle.
“Let me make this very clear. I wasn’t mad at you. I was disappointed in myself.”
Lifting his head from the brick wall, he shifted a look toward her, needing her to see the honesty in his words. “And in one bold sentence, you completely disarmed me and left me aching to try all of those things. Shyly hesitant or faking an orgasm to make me feel better, or maybe one day outrageously daring enough to tell me to get on my knees and make you soar, my imagination is only filling deeper with you.” Aching wasn’t the half of it. Just standing there, and he craved touching her more, to pull her close and show her that she was so damn incredible. And, fuck, to see if he could tell if she was faking it, like he could always spot her fake smile.
Better would be that she never had to fake it, but that was ego and optimism talking.
A lightness in her grin, she shook her head and said, “I would ask, not tell. That would be rude.” Standing tall in front of him, she shrugged with frank honesty. “Before I can even think about any of that, I need you to seeme. All of me. I walked out because it was suddenly very hot in there, and that raging imposter syndrome was trying to bite me in the ass.”
Unable to resist, he slipped his hands in hers and tipped the back of his head against the wall, chewing the edge of his tongue as he considered his next words very carefully. “I think I could spend the next sixty years with you and still want to know more about you. Don’t hold back with me. Ever.”
She tugged on his hands gently, leaning a nod toward the door. “Thank you for not treating me like I am delicate or innocent or that I might be offended.” Linked only by their fingertips, she pulled him with her.
He couldn’t help but smile when she gave him that look, curious and sweet and fiddled her tongue in her teeth. “Thank you for not treating me like I’m broken,” he whispered. “For helping me to maintain the image that I’m fine. It’s easier, when I can pretend I’m okay.”
Trace stopped and turned into him. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me. I know this is a lot for you. Say the word, and I’ll take you home.”
“I think I’d feel more brave if you took off the sweatshirt,” he teased, hooking his fingers with hers. “At least for Pippa’s sake, anyway, so she knows you like the sparkly bridesmaid tank.”
She gently tugged at his fingers to lead him to the door. “I’ll think about it.”
Blood surging low and filling him with so much yearning and blatant fucking lust, he followed so he could get closer before getting swallowed by the crowd again.
At the table, more appetizers had been refilled, drinks poured, including sparkling water for those driving home tonight, and he knew they sparked a few curious looks as they came in together. Trace leaned into him as they sat together, close but not too close. As the night heated up, she did end up taking off the sweatshirt, and he did his utmost to not blatantly appreciate when the top slipped low and the lacy corner of her bra peeked out.
Normal life wasn’t so bad. Asher and Zane seemed to know how strange it felt to be back and struggle with assimilation, and kept him in the loop, but made sure the evening stayed chill.
As the conversation bounced naturally back to weddings, Haley announced, “We have a date. April 14.”
“Seriously?” Trace said, beaming. “You’re really making us wait that long?”
“It’s only a few months. My mother requested time to curate her garden and make it like a fairytale. I didn’t argue. I’ll throw the woman a bone here and there. She has been pleasant lately,” Haley said, shrugging as if the fight had already been lost.
Claire was just wandering back from the bathroom and hooked her arms around from behind Grady and rested her chin on his shoulder. “I think she’s the reason we haven’t even gotten around to a date yet. We were thinking last-minute thing at our place when the weather’s lousy.”
“Elope,” Asher said, nodding brilliantly.
“But do it sober,” Zane helpfully added.
Cole angled a curious look at Zane and Freya, and earned a shrug and a wink. Trace whispered the story in his ear.
He tried to keep up, but every so often, the fog from his concussion seeped back in, and he felt himself slipping from the moment, unable to connect with his surroundings. Trace’s bare arm leaned against his, and she slid her hand into his. Fingers entwined, palms meeting, he was still floating outside of reality, but the connection grounded him, reassured him that this wasn’t a dream, that he was welcome when he could clear his head enough to come back to the present.
11
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you
