Page 107 of Faker
I pull him into a deep kiss and close my eyes. It’s aheart-pounding comfort to know he feels this way about me. His words are a warm blanket over my body, soothing me.
“You’re all I want,” he says when we finish our minute-long kiss.
“Even when we argue? How we bicker—”
He bumps the tip of my nose with his. “We play and laugh too. Don’t forget that.”
I beam.
“There’s a depth to us that I’ve never felt with anyone else. Don’t you feel it?”
I nod. Our history, our flaws, our imperfect path to this perfect morning, it all works together to intrigue and satisfy.
“I don’t like simple,” he says. “And I don’t think you do either.”
He’s right. I need the layers, the varying degrees of us. That’s what gets me off. That’s how I fall in love.
“I want this too. More than you know,” I say in a hushed voice, wondering if he can tell how I truly feel.
When he beams at me, the shock leaves my body. I nuzzle back into his chest and he continues to hold me tightly. As I lie in his arms, I am elated and at peace. It’s not long before we fade back to sleep, wrapped in a cocoon of sunlight and cotton.
•••
WHAT’S THIS?” Ipoint to a dark stain on the front of the T-shirt I’m wearing.
Men’s T-shirts are my favorite weekend lounge wear, especially when my only other clothing option is a slinky black dress. The fact that the shirt smells like Tate, all spicy and foresty, is a plus.
Tate pops his head out from the hallway bathroom. A toothbrush sticks out from his mouth. “Hmm? Oh, that. I wore it when I changed the oil in my car a few weeks ago.”
I walk into the bathroom as he hunches over to spit in the sink.I hug him from behind, pressing my face into his shoulder. So far I’ve managed to keep my love revelation to myself. It’s mind blowing enough that Tate Rasmussen is my boyfriend and that I’m wearing his T-shirt the morning after the best sex of my life. I don’t need to spill my gushy feelings to complicate things.
“I like the stain. It makes the shirt look manlier,” I say. Focusing on the moment helps. Teasing him eases the knot of emotion in my chest.
“I suppose it needs all the help it can get.” He wipes his mouth with a hand towel. “It has Oscar the Grouch on the front of it, after all. My sister got it for me a couple Christmases ago. She said we have the same personalities.”
I let out a chuckle. “Maybe on the outside, but deep down, you’re a big softy like Elmo.”
He reaches behind to tickle me at the waist. I squeal.
“Are you cool with using my toothbrush? I might have an unopened one in a drawer somewhere.” He starts to reach for the nearest drawer, but I grab his hand to stop him. He spins around, encircling my waist with his arms.
“I’m more than happy to use your toothbrush.”
I tiptoe up to give him a press on the lips. He’s having none of it though and captures me in a filthy, tongue-heavy kiss.
“Don’t.” I push him back. “Your mouth is clean. Mine tastes like gross morning breath.” I cup my hand over my mouth, hoping he can’t smell anything.
“I love the way you taste,” he says against my hand. I shiver so hard my knees buckle, but I don’t fall. He’s got me firmly in his hold. I could lift both legs off the ground and stay perfectly in place.
I playfully pull away so I can brush my teeth and wash my face.
“Here.” He hands me my purse when I walk back into his bedroom. “Your phone was beeping.”
He ruffles my hair before planting a kiss at the top of my head. I grin like a goober until I see a handful of frantic email messages from my sister.
“Shit.”
“What’s the matter?”
