Page 160 of Fake As Puck
An hour later, we’re sitting at a table at the best restaurant in the city, sharing a bottle of wine, and I can’t stop staring at her.
She’s here. She moved here. She chose this. She chose me.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks, catching me staring.
“How happy I am.”
“And how happy would you say, Mr. Cormack?” She takes a sip of her wine, watching me.
“Ridiculously happy. Embarrassingly happy. The kind of happy that would make people want to punch me in the face.”
She smiles at that. “No.”
“What about you? Any regrets about driving halfway across the country to move in with your boyfriend?” I tease.
“None.”
“None?”
“Well, one.”
“One?”
“I should have done it sooner.”
I smile at that.
And as we sit there in the restaurant, toasting to new beginnings and crazy decisions and love that’s worth everything, I realize this is what happiness feels like.
Not the temporary high of winning a game or getting good news.
The deep, settled happiness of knowing you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, with exactly the person you’re supposed to be with.
The happiness of coming home.
46
West’s bedroom is perfect during the full moon. The light casts through the windows as he lies me on his back.
“Where were we earlier?” he mumbles against my skin.
I point at my lips. “You were kissing me here.” He kisses me. I point at my neck. “And here.” He kisses my neck. I lift my shirt up. “And here.”
His gaze meets mine as he takes his shirt off. “This was off, wasn’t it?”
I nod, grabbing his shoulders. “I love how attentive you are.”
He kisses my stomach. “And I love how you remember exactly where we left off. What do I kiss next?” He’s looking up at me, kissing the top of my jeans. “Hmm?”
A deep pulse between my legs gets heavier. He rubs me through my jeans and says, “May I?”
“What?” I ask, getting lost in his touch.
“Take these off?”
I nod.
He unbuttons my jeans and pulls them off my legs. He drops them on the ground and pulls my shirt over my head.
