Page 50 of It's Always Been You
She gives me a wicked grin.
Shit.Step back.Say goodnight.Do not fuck her against this door.
I don’t step back. I lean in just enough so I can whisper in her ear, loving the shiver I see run through her body.
“Just you wait, Rory. I’m better at everything.”
She eyes me consideringly. “I just bet you are. Goodnight, Gabe.”
Molly kisses my cheek and reaches behind her, opening the bedroom door and stepping back so she’s inside the room.
I reach forward, cupping the side of her face and running my thumb over her bottom lip and across her jaw, holding her gaze with mine.
“Goodnight, Rory.”
Chapter Seventeen
Molly
It’s the quiet that wakes me up in the morning.
The house is silent. Still in a way my own house never is. With the white noise machine I use at night, music playing at full blast when I’m awake, color everywhere, and the organized chaos of my living space, it never feels completely silent. Gabe’s house is the opposite. Neutral colors, everything in its place, quiet in sleep, music on low.
I’ve been too much for people my whole life. Too loud. Too bright. Too wild. It never really bothered me, but it was there, nonetheless. I was never too much for Gabe though. Despite his more orderly nature, he always embraced my chaos. Reveled in it. Enjoyed it in a way few people in my life ever have.
I didn’t realize how much I missed that. I didn’t realize how much I missed a lot of things about him. Watching movies. Talking. Laughing together. Existing in the same space. Kissing.
The kiss, holy god. It was so hot. When he grabbed the top of the door frame and leaned onto it, I had to hold myself back from climbing him like a fucking tree because no way would that have been a good idea. Not until we figure this out. Whatever this is.
“Pull yourself together, Molly,” I mutter, a little turned on just from the thought of the kiss and sick of the introspection portion of the morning. A glance at the clock tells me I still have a couple hours until my 10 AM meeting, so I toss back the covers, thinking of coffee.
I detour to the bathroom to brush my teeth and do my morning skincare. I may have a giant hole in the roof of my house, and I may be sleeping in my ex-boyfriend and current fake fiancé’s guest room right now, but I’ll be damned if my skin looks anything less than fantastically glowy. Step aside J-Lo.
The door to Gabe’s room is open, and a quick peek inside shows me matching, expensive-looking furniture and a perfectly made bed with a charcoal gray comforter. I snicker because it’s so in character for his bed to be immaculate and so opposite of my bed, which has twisted sheets in a heap on the mattress and the comforter half on the floor.
I sleep like I live. Way, way out loud.
I’m just walking down the stairs when the front door opens, and Gabe walks into the house. I stop cold at the foot of the stairs, my heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. He’s wearing navy sweats, and a gray T-shirt is stretched perfectly across his chest. His well-defined biceps and muscled forearms are so fucking sexy, and his black framed glasses are doing crazy things to my insides. The whole look is giving serious hot nerd, and I want to both cozy into him and jump his bones. It’s a wildly appealing combination.
He’s carrying two coffee cups and a paper bag, and when he sees me on the stairs, the way his face lights up has warmth curling in my stomach.
He looks so damn good, and god, I know I said I missed all the things, but the truth is that I just really fucking missedhim.
He walks over to me and leans down, kissing me on the cheek. When he pulls back, he grins and hands me one of the cups.
“Rory. I really like seeing you in my house in the morning.”
I take a sip of what I already know is a peppermint mocha from my favorite coffee shop. “Don’t get used to it. After my meeting, I’m going to look around for rentals. I have no idea how long my house is going to take to fix, and I can’t impose on you for that long.”
Lies.
I super want to impose. Especially if he goes out for my favorite coffee every morning. I’m not saying I’m high maintenance, but I’m also notnotsaying that.
“About six weeks,” Gabe says, taking my free hand and leading me to the kitchen, pushing me towards one of the high stools at his counter.
“Six weeks for what?”
“Six weeks to get the tree off your house, fix the roof, and handle all the damage inside. My assistant just sent me the details.”
