Page 114 of When We Were Us
All at once, I am very aware of our proximity to one another in the small space. She’s standing so close that I can see the gold flecks in her irises, and I spot those tiny brown freckles that I love so much dotting her bare shoulders.
We’re standing within spitting distance of the bed, and I have to find something to do with my hands before I push her down on it and show her exactly what I’ve imagined doing so many times since she came back into my life. She’s all softness and curves, and even though she’s taller than she was back then, I know we still fit so perfectly together.
She looks up at me. “You’re staring.”
“Yep.” The word comes out in a hoarse whisper. Yep? Yep?! My brain shouts at me.
Am I having a stroke?
Fuck.
Can you get a hard-on while you're stroking out?
A pink blush rises on her cheeks, and she looks away quickly. Taking a few steps farther into the room, she peeks into the bathroom, which only houses the toilet and a stand-up shower.
When she steps back around me, her shoulder brushes mine. The soft scent of her causes the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up and my groin to tighten.
As I continue to watch her take in our surroundings, she’s so quiet. Suddenly, all Hudson’s bullshit ribbing about this being a hole-in-the-wall seems entirely too accurate.
It’s clean and the bed is made, but besides a small lamp on the nightstand, a hand-me-down recliner, and an old TV with rabbit ears sticking up, it really isn't much.
All-in-all, it's only about seven hundred square feet. There’s a kitchenette with a coffee pot, a small fridge, and an old, two-burner range. Even though there is probably room for a small table, I’ve never thought about getting one. I don’t cook much. Typically, I just scarf down a bagel or a cold sandwich, and both Nat and my mom are pretty good at giving me leftovers.
There’s a small, woodburning stove in the corner, which helps it feel more welcoming in the winter. However, since I’m the only one who lives here, it looks very much like what it is: a place to sleep and shower, and not much else. Haven’t really wanted more before if I’m being honest.
I’ve never been ashamed of how I live, and I know Wren would never judge me, but at this moment, what I have to offer her seems severely lacking.
“This is…” She continues to look around, as if searching for the right word but is coming up empty.
“Yeah, Hudson calls it a shithole. But he’s a dick, so…” I trail off, removing my hat and replacing it with a chuckle.
“I was going to say, cozy. Besides, isn’t he adopted?” She’s making a joke and I’m grateful for it.
“Mailman’s kid,” I quip, and she gives me a sweet smile.
We stand there awkwardly for a couple of seconds.
“Should we sit?” I ask. “Or I could take you home if you’re ready?”
She meets my gaze. We’ve had some pretty sexually charged moments in the last few weeks, and with the exception of kissing, I’ve tried my damndest to keep myhands off her. It’s getting harder to do so, especially when she looks at me like she is right now.
“We could sit for a while.”
I bob my head, scratching the scruff on my neck.
Ok, where? Where do we sit? My eyes bounce around the cabin, and she laughs lightly before her gaze meets mine.
“We could sit outside,” she says with a little shrug. “Wanna grab a blanket or something?”
“Ok, yeah,” I say, turning to grab a blanket off the end of the bed and my jacket from the hook on the back of the door.
My palms are sweaty when I grab the doorknob to open it.
“Relax, Hank.” She trails a hand along my abs as she passes me and gives me a little chuckle.
My answering laugh feels tight, forced. Because I can’t. I’m so goddamn gone for her that I can’t think straight. And there’s no question about that. Evenshecan feel it.
My memory immediately calls up the night in the bar, and then the kitchen at my parents’ place. And I can’t fathom for fuck where my bravado from either night went. I can’t seem to think straight around her, and I get all tongue-tied and anxious. All I know is that she's here and happy, and I don’t want to mess this up.
