Page 112 of We Met Like This
I kissed him, his lips salty from the potato chips, and then pulled the sheet up over his shoulders. His breathing went heavy again, and as I stood there staring at him, I realized something that scared me more than anything ever had—I was falling in love with this man.
CHAPTER 33
“You really have to leave?” I reached over him, feeling along the side of his seat for the button. “You sure you can’t come in and meet everyone?”
“I have so much work to catch up on. What are you doing?” he asked as the driver’s seat moved slowly backward.
We’d woken up that morning in the hotel room tangled up in each other, warm and happy and rested. “Thanks for taking care of me last night,” he’d said, his memory surprisingly intact for someone who had been so drunk.
“How’s your head?” I’d asked.
“Not bad, actually. Just a little stabby.”
I’d kissed him and he’d held me close.
“Oliver?” I’d asked as we lay there in each other’s arms.
“Yes?”
“Yesterday you said you’d only been drunk twice before.”
“Yes.”
“Was it the two times you found out you were being…” I didn’t want to finish the sentence, bring down the mood. Butit hadn’t occurred to me until that moment that being cheated on might’ve been the motivating factor for him drinking in the past.
“Yes,” he’d said, his muscles tight.
“I’m sorry. Maybe that’s why you said you were a quiet drunk. Because I hate to break it to you, but you’re not a quiet drunk.”
He gave me his throaty chuckle, holding me there against his chest. “It’s nice to have a better association with the whole thing.”
“It’s kind of annoying that you remember last night so well. I want a drunken voicemail of you.”
He laughed again.
“I don’t want this weekend to end, but I have to get home for a barbecue at my sister’s today. You think you can drop me off there on your way home?”
“At your sister’s,” he’d said. “You’re bringing the fruit tray.”
“Exactly.”
He took two breaths before he finally said, “Sure, I can take you there.”
Now we were here, in front of my sister’s house, ten minutes before the four-o’clock start time for her barbecue. “I’m making out with you,” I said. “That’s what I’m doing. I have ten minutes.”
His seat finally stopped its slow progress backward and I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. He smiled, both his hands grabbing hold of my ass.
“I’m on the clock again?” he asked.
“Yes, this time will you make better use of it?”
He laughed. “Did you call mebabelast night, by the way?”
“I did,” I said, smoothing my hand down one side of his hair and then the other. “It felt right.”
He pulled me down for a kiss. One weekend with him and his mouth already felt like home on mine. His lips were soft and firm all at once, his tongue traveling along my bottom lip before exploring my mouth. I wiggled on his lap as I felt the evidence of his arousal against me. His fingers gripped my hips and he moaned.
I tried to adjust my legs when my back hit the steering wheel, causing a loud honk to ring out.
