Page 34 of It's Always Been You
“Okay, but you all know we’re not actually engaged, right? This is all fake.” Molly’s voice is a little desperate with a side ofthe lady doth protest too much,and I kind of love it.
I pull Molly down next to me and wrap an arm around her shoulders. “Whatever you say, fiancée.”
She grumbles something under her breath, but I don’t think I’m imagining it when she moves a little closer to me, relaxing her shoulders, tucking herself deeper under my arm, and letting out a quiet sigh. As the room continues to buzz around us, for a minute, it feels like we’re in a little bubble where it’s us against the world, just like it was always supposed to be.
Chapter Eleven
Molly
Istare out my bedroom window at the monsoon outside. With an irritated grumble, I turn around and look longingly at the perfect outfit I have laid on my bed. The one that was going to give me the confidence I needed to get through this date. The one that was going to knock Gabe’s damn socks off. The one I now have to rethink entirely because instead of it being a perfect spring night, it’s forty-eight degrees with torrential rain. Not exactly open-toed sandals weather.
“Shit,” I mumble, stalking into my closet and flipping through my dresses. I hate every single one because none of them are the dark pink silk sleeveless slip dress of my dreams that I bought the day I ran into Gabe at the restaurant where asshole Brad decided to do some light assault. The day that started this whole fake engagement nonsense.
“Fuck it,” I say to my empty bedroom. I’m wearing the damn dress. The weather doesn’t control me. I’m more powerful than a little rain.
Stripping off the robe I put on after my shower, I pull the dress on and give it a few tugs so it falls into place. My only concession to the weather is the leather cream-colored knee-high boots I pull on and the rain jacket I yank out of my closet and toss on the bed.
Standing in front of the full-length heavy gold framed mirror leaning up against the wall, I study myself with a critical eye.
Makeup—on point.
Hair—excellent curl definition.
Dress—hot.
Shoes—not ideal, but workable.
Underwear—sexy as fuck, per my strict good underwear only policy. Whether I’m on a date or working out at the gym, one of my most closely held beliefs is that a girl feels her most powerful with good lingerie. Gabe may not be seeing my underwear tonight, but I’ll know it’s there, like a sly little secret meant only for me.
Except sometimes when he looks at me, it makes me feel like I don’t have any secrets from him at all. Like I may as well be naked, stripped right down to my good underwear. I used to like that. It made me feel seen. But a week after Gabe showed up at my office after ten years of silence, I’m not sure I want to feel quite so seen.
Not yet, at least.
In the years since I last saw Gabe, I’ve built a shield around myself when it comes to men. Nothing serious. Nothing personal. Absolutely no attachments. But in just the short time he’s been back in my life, I feel my shield slipping. It seems that since he’s the reason for the shield, he’s also the only one who can smash it to pieces.
But then, Gabe has always had a way of getting under my skin. Whereas younger Gabe was full puppy dog, older Gabe is different. He’s still the nerdy, cheerful ball of fun I remember, but age and grief have changed him. Not enough to harden him, but enough to give him an interesting edge. One that makes himdamn near irresistible. Younger Gabe was hot. Older Gabe is melt your underwear off sexy.
And now he’s my fiancé.
Fake fiancé, I correct myself.
Over the last ten years, my brain has conjured thousands of different ways Gabe might end up back in my life, but none of them were this. I’m surprised I’m not more freaked out over it, but then again, I’ve always been a low anxiety, go with the flow kind of girl, so I’m rolling with it.
The shimmer of nerves and anticipation that races through me at the knock on the door can definitely be considered rolling with it. I make the rules.
I grab my jacket and dig my purse out from the piles of clothes that litter my bed, then walk down the stairs. When I open the door, every rational thought falls straight out of my head becauseholy fucking shit.
It’s Gabe’s eyes I notice first. Bright blue, made practically electric by the blue sweater he wears. The sweater looks like it was custom made for him, and he has the sleeves pushed up, revealing well-defined forearms I can’t seem to tear my gaze away from. Emma swears she was first attracted to Jeremy’s forearms, and in this moment, I understand that sentiment completely. His black pants hug his legs perfectly, and I’m sure if he turned around, his ass would be even more amazing than I remember.
He looks so good. So much like my Gabe that I want to burrow into him. Hold on to him and make him promise never to leave me again.
“Rory,” Gabe breathes.
I drift my gaze up to meet his, and the expression on his face has my breath backing up in my lungs. He looks thunderstruck. His eyes are full of emotion and heat, and he stares at me like if he looks away, I’ll disappear. He doesn’t check me out. Doesn’tsweep his gaze down my body and back up again like most men would. Instead, his eyes stay locked on mine, the two of us in a silent stare off.
A thousand words pass between us, but neither of us speaks them out loud.
I’m glad you’re here.
