Page 84 of The Pocket Pair

She holds me tighter by the front of my coat. But it’s not like she needs to. I’m not interested in going anywhere.

Val may have started this kiss, but the moment her mouth touched mine, I was all in. I’m giving back as good as I’m getting, and what I’m getting is nothing short of life altering.

Me and Val. Val and me.

As if realizing I’m not fighting or running, Val’s hands release my coat and begin an exploratory mission. One palm goes flat against my heart, which beats even faster at her touch.

Can she feel that? Can she see how much this kiss is affecting me?

She slides her other hand up my shoulder to the back of my neck where she plays with my hair. Something hot and electric travels straight down my spine from the origins of her touch, like her skin on mine completed a current.

“Tiny,” I murmur against her lips as our heads tilt, changing the angle of our kiss. “Tiny, Tiny, Tiny.”

Her hair is soft, and touching it now only makes me want to bury my hands in it. To play with the long strands. To comb my fingers through it. To wrap it around my fist as I tilt her head to kiss her more deeply.

Heck—I’d even learn to braid if it meant spending more time with my hands in her hair.

But I need more of her. My hands are eager to move. Greedy, even. I keep one hand on her lower back, sliding it under her sweater until her hot skin brands my palm. I move my other hand from her hair to her face, cupping her cheek then her jaw before I slide it to her neck, feeling her pulse leap against my fingertips.

She makes a humming sound that vibrates through the pad of my thumb, which rests on her throat. I want her to make the sound again, to make other sounds, to experience not only the sound but the feel of them against my fingertip.

She shifts, dipping her head to press hot and hungry kisses along my jaw and throat, then up to my cheeks and back to my mouth, which is waiting hungrily for her, panting breathlessly. For Val. Only Val.

I feel like a man who’s been fighting against restraints only to have them snap, and the momentum of my struggle is propelling me forward in a powerful surge. I need Val closer, to hold her tighter. I need more, even as some part of me registers more will never be enough.

I won’t be satisfied.

Not with this kiss, not with weeks or months or years of kisses. I want them all—to own every kiss of hers from this moment on. Mine.

That word pulses through me like a drumbeat, then slows and settles over me like a soft, fuzzy blanket. The kind that makes you want to crawl in bed and never leave.

And if there’s still some niggling worry that I might not be built for commitment, I’m choosing to kick it to the curb. Right now, there is no room for doubt.

There’s a whoosh and then a soft thud as the bush from overhead drops beside us. Val jumps, and we pull apart, foreheads together.

“My work here is done,” James says from somewhere above our heads.

I glance at Val, only to see her smiling and biting her lip. Her expression is slightly dazed but happier than I’ve seen her in a long time. Much happier than she was with Mullet. I frown, remembering how recent their breakup was.

“What?” she asks.

“I don’t want to be just a rebound,” I tell her, feeling strangely raw and vulnerable even asking the question. So raw, that when she laughs, I start to pull away.

Eyes wide, she grabs me with surprising strength, holding me in place. There’s no smile now, only tenderness.

“I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just …” She shakes her head, then lifts one hand to run her fingers along my jaw. “You could never be a rebound, Chevy. If anything, they were the rebounds. Every man I’ve ever dated was only an attempt to get over you.”

The words land slowly but with surprising force.

“To get over me?”

“Did you really not know about my feelings for you? It felt so obvious. All the time.”

I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind—still half mush from the kiss—around this idea. “I mean, I knew when we were younger. But I thought it was just a crush you got over.”

“Not a crush. And I did not get over my feelings. They grew into something bigger. But I never thought—you never seemed to—” She stops, glancing away and looking embarrassed. “I thought my feelings were one-way. What with all the women you dated. And then being told over and over that I’m a friend. Your sister’s friend. Your roommate. I’m shocked you didn’t start moving into other languages. Amigo. Uh … whatever the French word is for friend. End-fray—is that how pig Latin works?”

“Tiny. Stop.” I press a finger to her lips, but let’s be honest—it’s less because I think it will make her quiet and more because I want to touch her. “For a long time, you were too young. And then, Winnie threatened me, which, it turns out, was about not hurting you, not not dating you.”

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