Page 27 of We Can Stay
No, I definitely never planned on this. And I know that eventually, we’ll need to have the “Where is this going?” talk—which I selfishly want to put off for as long as possible—but right now, I’m enjoying myself.
I’m happy. He’s happy.
And in a world where so much is heavy and out of left field, where your own body can turn against you without warning, don’t we deserve this moment—unchained as it is from every other one?
The pain will come back. It always does. But right now, in this makeshift romantic hideaway with its flickering candles and the scent of Chinese food and cedar, with Sebastian’s lips onmine and his heart beating steady under my palm, I choose this. I choose happy.
Even if it’s just for tonight.
CHAPTER 8
Sebastian
Every part of Flick is heaven. Her lips. Her delicate shoulders. Her soft skin.
I want to explore each inch of her body with my hands and my mouth, taking my time and memorizing every reaction, every soft sound she makes. But I keep my hands steady on her waist as we kiss, her breath intermingling with mine.
Fire sears through my body, heat pooling low in my belly. Part of me wants nothing more than to lift her up, press her against the shed wall, and let this desperate need take over.
That’s also the last thing I want.
The first time we make love—God, please let there be a first time—needs to be meaningful. Somewhere soft and safe where I can worship her properly. Not a rushed encounter at my workplace that smells like antiseptic and dog shampoo.
With her hands twisting in my shirt, though, my resolve wavers as she pulls the fabric over my head. Her palms smooth down my chest, fingernails dragging lightly over my abs. The touch shoots straight through me. I pull her closer, feeling the perfect way her body fits against mine.
She shifts her hips, pressing tighter, and I groan into her mouth, certain I’ve just experienced heaven. But then I drawanother shaky breath—proof I’m still very much alive. Alive and holding everything I never knew I needed.
I find the hem of her shirt. She helps me ease it off, careful of her arms. Then she’s pressed against me, only the thin lace of her bra between us. Need spirals through me, tangling with something deeper?—
The doorknob rattles. “Sebastian!” Rachel’s voice carries through the door. “I need disinfectant for exam room three. Sorry!”
Shit.
I break away from Flick’s mouth, swallowing the curse that wants to escape. “Sorry,” I murmur against her temple.
Her face is flushed, but amusement dances in her eyes. “Occupational hazard?”
“Be right there,” I call to Rach, grateful I remembered to lock the door. My hands are still shaking.
This is what I get for thinking the supplies shed would be romantic. Private, I’d thought. Neutral ground. I forgot we actually use this space. That the clinic is still open tonight.
We fumble back into our shirts. I grab the disinfectant, trying to calm my racing pulse. “Please don’t disappear on me.”
“Where would I go?” Her fingers brush mine as I walk past.
I walk backward to the door, drinking in the sight of her—hair mussed, lips swollen, that soft smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know. Sometimes I worry you’re too good to be real. Like I’ll wake up and find out I dreamed you.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. Too much. Too honest. But she doesn’t pull back. Instead, something flickers across her face—understanding maybe, or recognition.
I slip out before I can say anything else that reveals how far gone I am.
The clinic hallway feels too bright after the dim shed. I jog through the back entrance, past the surgery suite, and up toreception. Rachel waits behind the front desk, trying and failing to hide her grin.
“Sorry about that. I texted, but?—”
“Phone’s on silent.” I set the bottle on the counter, avoiding her gaze. “I probably shouldn’t have brought her here.”
A tabby meows from its carrier in the waiting room. Mr. Zepper’s parrot squawks from his shoulder, bright green feathers ruffled. “Need any?—”
