Page 54 of Before We Came

“Sweetheart, you are smart and sexy and deserve whatever it is you want, but there’s no fucking way Nate is getting a shot before me.”

Ugh. I know it’s wrong, but his possessiveness only adds to the sexual tension between us.World’s worst feminist.But fuck him for saying it anyway.

“Oh, I get it. So maybe once you’re finished with me, then he can have a go? That’s what this is about, right? Whoever gets to be first? Jack has already talked to me about how you handle your relationships.” I laugh without humor. “I won’t be your next one-night stand. I told you I can’t be that girl for you.”

“But you can with Nate?”

“No, that’s—it’s different.”

“Why? Because you don’t care about him the way you care about me?”

“Go to hell.”

My eyes sting, and a slight tremor has taken over my chin. I turn my back on him, but it doesn’t make a difference. He can see right through me. He flips me back and cups my face with both hands, forcing me to look at him.

“You can yell at me all night long, but you’re going to look me in the eye when you do it. Allow me to be perfectly clear. You will never be a one-night stand for me. There’s more to us than that. We have history.”

“Oh my God. Lonan, we were kids—those times don’t matter. I hardly remember anything more than that day in the fort.”

Hot tears brim my eyes. This is so humiliating. He keeps peeling back my layers and peeking underneath.

“I remember!” He stabs his finger into his chest. “I remember enough for both of us. Do you want me to prove it? You triple-knotted your shoelaces for good luck. You wore overalls all the time and your right strap was always twisted. You were scared of ladybugs, but not spiders—which is really fucking strange, by the way. You dreamed of becoming a marine biologist when you grew up. When we played house, you made yourself the armadillo—yeah, armadillo—every goddamn time. You had the coolest rock collection. Oh, and your favorite ice cream flavor was cotton candy.”

The muscles in his neck are taut, and his glare bounces between my eyes. He releases a breath. “And I know you feel something when I kiss you. I feel it too. Don’t you dare try to claim otherwise. We are good together, Bridget.”

There’s a pattern to him using my name. He calls me Bridget when he’s talking to the woman locked deep inside my heart for safekeeping. It’s not a name I’ve used in a very long time, but it makes me feel treasured when he says it. He’s showing me his insides. This is him balancing out the scales of vulnerability.

I can’t hold back tears any longer, they are streaming down my face, but the only thing I can blubber out is “I prefer mint chocolate chip now.”

He drags me into his chest.

“Christ, you’re even pretty when you cry,” he says, irritated.

His arms hold me close for a moment and then push me away so he can level his gaze with mine.

“If you don’t want to explore this, that’s fine. But don’t waste your time on some asshole that will probably buy you frozen fucking yogurt instead of what you really want. Don’t waste your time on vanilla. You deserve the mint chocolate chip.”

My eyebrows raise, and I stare at him, reflecting on his words.Did he just...?Then I drop my forehead to his chest, and my shoulders shake with laughter. He mistakes it for more sobs and pulls me tighter into his arms.

When my laughter wins out, he shoves me to arm’s length, confusion clouding his features. I can’t help myself.

“That was the cheesiest—”

“Really? You’re laughing at me. Right now? After all that?”

This isn’t the reaction he imagined his thoughtful words would receive. They were adorable, but the ice-cream-themed suaveness sent me over the edge. A surprising contradiction to his usual masculine toughness. I loved it.

He tilts his head back and looks at the ceiling, his tongue in his cheek, trying to suppress the smile that could drop a whole room full of panties. “Such a brat.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It was just so—”

“Stop talking,” he commands. Gripping my chin again, he steals my lips, halting any train of thought or remaining laughter. The warmth in his kiss floods my senses and sends my heart into a quick rhythm. It’s clear I’ve lost this fight—and I’m okay with that. Then, he corrects me with a restrained swat on my ass to put me in my place. My back straightens, and I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

His voice turns to that aggressive rumble, and he whispers in my ear, “If you give me a hard time like that again, I’m going to give you one right back.” The promise of getting to experience his rough side again sends tingles down my spine.

Looks like I’m going to fuck the ice cream man.

TWENTY-ONE

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