Page 140 of Your Last First Kiss
Her hand moves to her chest, and she blinks too fast.
“What?” she whispers.
“I want you. I want you and your messes all the time. Not just for visits or the occasional sleepover. I want my toothbrush sitting next to yours in our bathroom. I want Gage’s dirty socks on my floor and Landon’s easel taking up all the space in the kitchen. I want to trip over Kai’s sports equipment, and I want my shoes to be in your pile. I want it to be forever, so move in with me.” She’s still blinking too quickly. “Please,” I add as an afterthought.
“But isn’t it too soon? That’s a big change for the kids.”
“Sweetheart, I’ve wanted forever with you since our very first goodbye in Lochlan’s office. We’ve been building toward this for years, so no, I don’t think it’s too soon. And the kids? Yes, it’ll be an adjustment, but the book I’m reading says that kids are really resilient. If we build a happy, healthy home where they know they’re safe and loved, it doesn’t matter where they go to sleep at night.”
Shit. Now she’s crying.
“You’re reading a book?”
I twist my lips into a frown. “Of everything I just said, the one thing you comment on is the book?”
“What book are you reading?” She’s teasing me, but when she bites down on her bottom lip, I know it’s a serious question.
“A book on parenting, or stepparenting, I guess. I hate the word step,” I growl. “It insinuates I’m not fully invested.”
“It does?” Penny bites down harder on her lip, and visions of sucking on it flood my brain, but this is too important of a conversation, so I force the images back.
Get Penny to move in with me, then we can fuck.
“I just don’t like the term, but the book has been helpful, I guess. I’ll never tell Lochlan, though. He’ll never let me live it down.”
Penny runs a hand up my chest, and she gives a little push before climbing on top of me.
Jesus, this view though. Okay, maybe fuck, then get Penny to move in with me.
“We won’t call you a stepparent then.”
She rolls her hips, and I have a hard time following her words as her wetness coats me.
“What will you call me then?” My voice sounds like a broken garbage disposal, but if she keeps moving like this, I won’t be able to talk at all.
“We’ll call you ours.”
Record scratch. Nails on the chalkboard. Knife on a glass plate. Everything stops.
“Say it again.”
“We’re yours, and you’re ours.” She looks to the ceiling like she’s sending up a prayer.
I send one up too.
Dear God, please forgive the shit you’re about to see.
“I guess that means our living situation will have to change.”
Did I hear her correctly?
“What?” The word comes out sharp and loud. It has to, in order to drown out the noise filling my head.
“We’ll move in with you. Or you can move in with us. Where will we…”
I surge to a sitting position and take her with me. She rests on my lap with her legs wrapped around my back.
“Where we live isn’t important. It’s semantics. What matters is that you’re finally, finally mine.”
