Page 30 of Ripple Effect
Her brand of comfort helped but only insomuch as I can pluck out the memories while I sit in my room late at night and imagine her bright green eyes dilating before they drifted shut as I made her body writhe beneath mine.
I used to not care how long I was away. Now, I’m eager to get back. Then again, I never had anything as profound as Elizabeth Akin waiting for me.
Before I left, we spent the afternoon curled up at her apartment—just a football game and my woman. And damn, Libby smelled so damn delicious, she made me want to get down on my knees and ask her to call me out sick so I could spend the time eating all the things that would be good for me. While I was contemplating the merits of that, Libby shouted, “Oh, come on, Dawgs! You can play better than this!” amusing me to no end. “How the hell do you expect him to make a pass if he keeps getting sacked?”
Burying my head into her long hair, I burst out laughing. It sounded like a car backfiring.
Libby froze. “Every time you do that, I think I must be dreaming.”
“What?” I brushed a kiss against the side of her neck I’d managed to expose. It’d been at least twenty minutes since I tasted her sweet skin. That’s way too long when the only peace on this earth can be found in her arms.
“Laugh. You don’t do it much, do you?”
I paused in trailing kisses down her neck. “I do with you,” I told her honestly.
And just that quickly, the game was forgotten as she twisted in my arms. “Why?” Confusion was written all over her face.
I traced her lower lip with my thumb. “Maybe there’s just something cute about the way you yell at the TV.”
She rolled her eyes and turned around to watch the game.
Settling back, I pulled her tighter against me before answering her seriously. “You’ve become everything to me, Libby. I don’t know how it happened, but I know for damned sure no one’s ever been able to make me feel the things you do.” Thoughtfully, I added, “I don’t think anyone else ever can or ever will.”
Her body stiffened before she turned carefully. Above the roar of a Georgia touchdown, she whispered, “I’m not sure if I understand what that means.”
Looping my arms around her back, I tumbled her down to the cushions so she cradled me against the inside of her thighs. “I don’t remember wanting to smile before you. I know for damn sure I didn’t laugh.”
Her eyes widened. “Ever?”
“What did I have to laugh about?” I scoffed. “I was a foster kid who knew I was only a paycheck until I was eighteen and was handed my walking papers. I grew up young and fast, honey. But one day, I heard this sound that startled me across the quad. It was pouring rain, and everyone around me was cursing about getting wet. But there you were laughing. You were just standing still with your head tilted back absorbing the moment. It’s the first time I consciously remember smiling.”
She was so still beneath me—no reaction whatsoever. I pressed on. “It was the first moment I felt something more for you.”
“Why did you wait so long?” Libby asked in a very subdued voice.
“You were young, honey,” I started to explain, but she cut me off.
“No. Why did you wait so long to come back into my life?” She fought to pull her arms out from where I had them trapped in between us. “God, Cal, why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I unconsciously knew we’d end up right here and I was afraid…”
“Yes?” The edge of her voice was so lethal it could have been a weapon itself.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t know what to do. I told you, I didn’t know anything about relationships, Libby. Maybe some part of me thought I’d end up hurting you,” I admitted. I didn’t realize until the words came out, until she forced the truth from me, that’s exactly what I was doing by not contacting her. But even as I held my breath, waiting for forgiveness for being a stupid ass and wasting precious time, Libby’s eyes narrowed as she looked for the lie in my words.
“Promise me you won’t lie to me about how you feel—about me, about anything.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Then you’ll tell me what you’re really thinking when I tell you the hat I swapped with the girl last night had Brendan Blake’s phone number in it,” Libby told me as calmly as if she was reciting a grocery list.
“What the hell?” I barked, the urge to find that singer and make him lose his vocal chords sounding more appealing.
Smirking, she cupped the side of my face. “I’m a big girl, Cal. And I know who I want. Remember that.”
My heart was still pounding in a combination of fury and lust when I lowered my mouth to hers and said, “Yes, ma’am.”
We didn’t end up watching the rest of the game. I checked the score on the airport monitor.
