Page 48 of Glitter Rose
“Bullshit.”
“Hand to God. Thought the old couple lying in bed together while the water came in was—” I clear my throat. “Whatever. It was sad.”
She jabs at my chest. “You’re a romantic under all that concrete, aren’t you?”
“Don’t tell anyone.” I flip to another page. “Greatest fear?”
Her smile falters. “That’s not an easy one.”
“We can skip?—”
“Being forgotten,” she says it quickly, like ripping offa bandage. “Dying alone with no one to remember I existed. You?”
I swallow hard. “Failing the people who count on me.”
Our eyes lock, and something passes between us, an understanding that goes deeper than words.
“Give me that.” She lunges for the book again, but I hold it higher, out of her reach.
“Ask nicely, princess.” I smirk as she stretches, fingertips brushing the book’s spine.
“Hand it over.”
I dangle it higher. “Not until you admit blue is your favorite color.”
“You’re insufferable. Give it.”
“Make me.”
She crawls over me, straddling my hips, and presses her weight against me as she reaches again. The sudden pressure of her body against mine sends blood rushing south.
“Dirty tactics,” I manage, voice rougher than intended.
“All’s fair in…” She freezes, probably realizing our position. Her thighs bracket mine, her chest nearly touching my face.
“In what?” I lower the book slightly, distracted by the way her pulse jumps at the base of her throat.
She shifts, a tiny movement that drags a groan from deep within me. Does she know what kind of effect she has on me?
“Book.” Her command lacks conviction, especially when her eyes drop to my mouth. “Now.”
I toss the book aside without looking. It hits something with a dull thud. “Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She doesn’t move off me, though. Just hovers there, her breathing shallow, pupils dilating.
“You gonna get off me?” I settle my hands on her hips.
“Do you want me to?”
Fuck. This girl’s gonna be the death of me.
“Not particularly.” My hand travels up her spine, feeling each vertebra like I’m memorizing her blueprint. “But you should know what you’re starting.”
“Oh, I think I have some idea. But it’s not first date approved.”
“Is that so?” I kiss the exposed curve of her chest. “Next question then. If we were a couple, what would our Sunday mornings look like?”
“Mhm.” She presses her palms against my chest, dropping fully into my lap, and I’m instantly aware of every point where our bodies touch. “Sunday mornings? Well, I’d sleep in while you’re already up doing push-ups or something equally masochistic.”
