Page 20 of Exes That Puck
“Stop.”
“I love you.” The words spill out before I can stop them. “I know I fucked up. I know I got jealous and possessive and made you feel like you couldn’t breathe. But I love you more than I’ve everloved anything in my life, and I would do anything to make this work.”
Tears gather in her eyes, but she doesn’t let them fall. “Love isn’t enough.”
“It is. I can’t fucking live without you.”
I cup her face in my hands, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. She doesn’t pull away, doesn’t protest. Just looks up at me with those brown eyes that have haunted my dreams for two weeks.
“I can’t,” she whispers.
“You can. We can.”
I lean down slowly, giving her every chance to stop me, to push me away, to prove that she really is done with me. But she doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just watches me with wide eyes as I close the distance between us.
When my lips touch hers, it’s gentle. Careful. This is a question, a plea, a promise all wrapped into one soft touch.
She makes a small sound in the back of her throat, and for a moment I think she’s going to push me away. But then her eyes flutter closed, and she’s kissing me back.
Slowly at first, hesitant, like she’s testing her own resolve. But then her hands fist in my jacket, pulling me closer, and the kiss deepens.
“I miss you too,” she breathes against my mouth.
The admission breaks something open in my chest. I back her up until she’s pressed against the side of my truck, my hands tangled in her hair, her body soft and warm against mine.
“Come home with me,” I murmur between kisses. “Just tonight. We don’t have to figure everything out right now. Just… come home with me.”
She pulls back to look at me, conflict clear in her expression. “Zeke—”
“Please.” I rest my forehead against hers. “I just want to hold you. I want to remember what it feels like when we’re not fighting.”
For a long moment, she doesn’t say anything. Just searches my face like she’s looking for answers I’m not sure I have.
Then she nods.
I open the passenger door for her, and she climbs in without a word. Her oversized purse goes on the floor, and she buckles her seatbelt with trembling fingers.
Neither of us speaks as I start the engine and pull out of the parking lot. The radio plays softly in the background, but the silence between us isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged, electric, full of heartbreak and desire.
I reach over and take her hand, lacing our fingers together. She doesn’t pull away.
7
His place is the same as I remember. It’s dim, bare, smelling faintly of sweat and laundry detergent. Same navy couch where I’ve cried and laughed and fallen asleep watching movies. Same coffee table covered in hockey magazines and empty water bottles.
Nothing’s changed, but everything feels different.
I stand in the doorway, suddenly unsure. Coming here felt inevitable in the parking lot, like we were being pulled by some gravitational force we couldn’t fight. But now, surrounded by all these familiar things that used to feel like home, reality crashes back.
This is a mistake.
The second the door shuts behind us, his mouth is on mine again. Hard, greedy, like he’s been waiting all day just to ruin me.
I should stop him. I know I should, but I can’t. I want this just as much as he does.
My back hits the wall, his hands braced on either side of my head, his body caging me in. His kiss is rough at first, all teeth and heat, but then it slows. He drags it out like he wants me to feel every brush of his lips, every flick of his tongue. My knees go weak, and I hate that he knows it.
“Zeke—” I break away, breath ragged, palms flat against his chest. My voice shakes. “This doesn’t change anything. We’re still broken up. We’re not getting back together.”
