Page 105 of Going Deep
“Oh.” He absorbed that. “What are you apologizing for, exactly?”
She sighed again. “For not telling you when I first found out about your family.”
He nodded solemnly. “Why didn’t you?”
“Because.” She grimaced. “That’s a shit fuck ton of money, Michael.”
“It is,” he agreed.
“I can’t even picture that much money.”
“It’s not mine,” he said helpfully.
“I felt weird about it,” she confessed. “Dating someone with that much money. I mean, I scrounge in my car for enough change to buy a pop at the drive-through, and your family gives away half a billion dollars a year.”
He smiled, feeling more relaxed than he had in a week. “Hey, I scrounge for change.”
“Sure, you do.” She smirked, then shrugged awkwardly. “Anyway, I’m sorry.”
“I guess we both could’ve communicated better,” he offered.
Her smile was tentative, but it was genuine. “I guess so.”
“Well, in the interest of doing better at that, I have one more thing I need to tell you.”
Her shoulders tensed. “What’s that?”
“I’m in love with you.”
He didn’t know what it said about him that her bug-eyed, slacked jawed reaction made him want to laugh, but it did.
“Shut up,” she breathed. “You are not.”
“Sorry,” he said, delighted with her. Besotted with her. Completely and totally in love with her. “I am.”
“How can you love me?” she demanded. “You hardly know anything about me.”
“I may not know a lot of the details,” he admitted, battling guilt. “But I know you. You hog the covers, and sleep best when they’re over your head. You use too much syrup on your pancakes, and always spill some.”
Her cheeks went pink, charming him.
“You’re a loyal friend,” he continued softly. “You’re a generous lover. Beautifully submissive when you trust, and beautifully capable of handling whatever needs handling.”
“Oh.”
“Do you believe me now?”
She took a breath, shuddered it out. “I guess I do, because I’m in love with you, too.”
His heart, so quiet and sad for the last week, began to thump with joy. “Yeah?”
“I don’t know a lot of your details either, but yeah.” Another deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah.”
“Thank God,” he breathed and, reaching for her, hauled her up against him.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” she mumbled into his neck.
“Do you forgive me?” he countered, nuzzling the hair at her temple. It was damp with sweat and smelled like her shampoo. He could’ve stayed right there for days.
