Page 48 of It's Always Been You
“Barely. It’s a good thing you’re staying here for a while. We have ten years of the MCU to catch up on.”
Molly nudges me with her knee. “Back the truck up, Gabe. I’m staying here for a night or two so I can look for a rental.”
“We’ll just see about that,” I mumble. No fucking way is she renting an apartment while her house is getting fixed when this house has six damn bedrooms.
Molly turns on the couch, propping a leg up against the cushions so she’s fully facing me. “Have you somehow forgotten that I’m a grown woman who makes her own decisions and doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do?”
I take my glasses off and stick them in the collar of my shirt. “Have you somehow forgotten that I take care of the people who are important to me?”
“God, that’s so hot,” Molly mutters.
I raise an eyebrow at her. “Excuse me?”
She furrows her brow. “Shit, did I say that out loud?”
I chuckle. “You sure did, and now you’re going to explain.”
She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “It’s the glasses. The way you put them on and take them off. It’s hot, Gabe. It’s really fucking hot.”
“Is it reallllly,” I drawl, sending up a prayer of thanks for all the close-up computer work I’ve done in the past ten years that fucked up my eyes enough that I need glasses for reading and TV watching. And driving. All the things, really, but I refuse to give in all the way. Not yet.
Molly rolls her eyes. “Cool down, Casanova. You know what you look like. You have mirrors.”
“Please, Rory, tell me more about how good looking I am.”
“I’m not stroking your ego.” She leans over and grabs her Diet Pepsi from the coffee table, taking a long sip. My eyes are fixed on the long, smooth column of her throat as she swallows, and it’s possible I have gone completely round the bend.
“You might not be, but I’m happy to stroke any part of you that needs stroking.”
Molly snorts out a laugh and shakes her head, then takes another sip of her soda, draining the can. “Pass.”
I smirk at her. “For now. Also, what’s the deal with the Pepsi? Is that a Pittsburgh thing? You were always a Coke person. We were always Coke people. We were such Coke people we made fun of Pepsi people.”
“Ugh, I know, isn’t it terrible? I don’t know if it’s a Pittsburgh thing, but my friends are Pepsi people, and they got me hooked years ago. Julie even has Diet Pepsi in a soda fountain in her kitchen. I feel so disloyal, but I love it, Gabe. I just freaking love it.”
I shake my head solemnly. “Does this relationship even have a chance? We’re not soda compatible anymore.”
“Aw, buck up, buttercup. I saw the excited look in your eyes when I dumped the Reese’s Pieces in this popcorn. At least we’re still snack compatible. And we’re both still night people.”
I glance at the clock on the wall and see that it’s almost two in the morning. Staying up late with Molly, talking and watching movies and taking walks and eating snacks while the rest of the world was asleep, used to be one of my favorite things. Looks like that hasn’t changed.
“I have to admit, it’s been a long time since I stayed up this late.”
Molly shakes her head. “Not me. Late at night is when I’m the most creative. It’s when I get all my best ideas about rearranging furniture and repainting my walls, and when I go searching theinternet for interesting art and pieces for my house or the office while I watch my comfort shows.”
I want to ask if it’s when she dances—if she even dances at all. I didn’t see any evidence of it in her house, and I can’t help but wonder how she just left behind something that was such a huge part of her life, something she was going to make her career. She’s made it pretty clear that topic is off-limits, and I’ll respect that, but I’m so curious. I also just want to keep talking to her, so I ask another question, kind of dreading the moment she says she’s ready for bed and we retreat to separate bedrooms.
“Your comfort shows?”
“Yeah, the shows I can watch over and over again and never get tired of. There’s something kind of magical about watching them in the middle of the night when I should be sleeping. Forbidden almost. Like I’m still a kid, doing something I’m not supposed to do. You know I lived to do things I wasn’t supposed to do. Not much has really changed.”
I know she doesn’t mean it to, but the wordforbiddenconjures up all kinds of fantasies in my brain. The dirty kind that have all the blood in my body draining to my cock and me shifting in my seat, hoping she doesn’t notice.
I think she doesn’t because she lets out a huge yawn and stretches her arms above her head. My eyes immediately drop to the bare strip of skin visible right above the waistband of her pants when her shirt rides up and fuck. I’m really fucking gone when a one-inch strip of skin has me thinking about dark rooms and Molly moving under me and over me and my hands on every inch of her body. And suddenly bedtime doesn’t sound too terrible. I need to get the fuck off this couch before I chuckslowstraight out the window.
“Ready for bed?”
Molly hesitates, like maybe she’s reluctant to leave this little late-night bubble too. “Yeah, I should probably get some sleep. I have that big client meeting tomorrow.”
