Page 33 of Tripped By Love
Instead of making him feel better, this seemed to make him feel worse.
I took a step toward him but then remembered the stupid apron. I went to pull it off, but the string knotted behind me. I twisted, trying to pull at it, yanking, and having it tighten instead of loosen. Marco chuckled, the rumble coasting through the air, and before I could even really take it in, he’d moved to my side and was turning me with a hand on my waist so that he could see the tangled knot.
He bent to see the strings, and his warm breath journeyed across my neck and shoulders, making the goosebumps return. His hands stilled as if he’d seen my reaction, and I swore he inhaled a breath as if trying to catch my scent. My breasts turned taut, and my thighs clenched. It took everything I had to not push my hands into his thick black hair and tug his mouth to my skin.
His fingers worked the knot, and finally, the strings fell apart with the apron swinging away from my body. Only the rope at my neck kept it from hitting the ground. Marco’s hands skated over both my arms as if smoothing the goosebumps, but it only caused them to increase. He pulled at the bow at my neck, and it came undone, falling completely. I caught the apron in my hands, turning to look over my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said quietly, our eyes meeting. Heat seared through us both. It wasn’t one-sided, this craving I had. It filled him, too.
He reached up, tucking a strand of hair that had escaped my double buns behind my ear. His fingers lingered at the nape of my neck before landing on my shoulder. I ached for him to kiss me. For me to kiss him. For our mouths to devour each other. My eyes fell to his lips.
A little cry burst from the baby monitor. Chevelle calling my name.
I jumped back, Marco’s hands fell away, and I tore my gaze from his to hustle down the hall to my son’s room. He was standing at the side of his crib, looking down to where Hippo had somehow made it out of the crib and onto the floor. I picked the toy and my son up, hugging them to my chest.
“Mama’s here, baby. I’m here.”
I soothed and rocked him for a second, then he went limp in my arms, back to sleep. I put him in the crib, covered him with a blanket, and tucked Hippo next to him. He was almost too big for the crib. I’d need to move him to a toddler bed soon. I ran a hand over his smooth hair with love pouring from my veins, wishing I was a better mom—or at least, a less selfish one. Someone who would spend every minute of every day with him.
It was ridiculous to think it. My parents hadn’t spent that much time with me. They’d taught at Wilson-Jacobs my entire life. I’d been in daycare when I was little, and I’d never felt unloved or unwanted. Quite the opposite, my parents had been there for every doctor’s appointment, every fall, and every tear I’d shed.
When I came out of Chevelle’s room, the lights in the bedroom Marco and I had converted to a home gym were on. I followed it to find Marco with his weights in hand and mine on the mat at his feet.
“Ready?” he asked.
I wanted to say no. I wanted to say,‘Let’s go back to the kitchen, to that moment where a kiss had wafted on the air between us like never before.’ I wanted to force him to shed his secrets so that I could soothe him like I’d just soothed my son, but I didn’t. Instead, I moved forward, picked up the weights, and said, “First one to a hundred gets to decide what we do next.”
