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“I guess.”
“I think you could have one thousand friends and none of them would understand you the way they do.”
“But isn’t it a coincidence that we’re all here?”
“Different levels of soulmate. Holley’s a bit closer to Kinsley, you’re marginally closer to Tori, Tori and Seb are really close friends, Colton and Holley are surprisingly good friends.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m closest to Seb, but I’d probably go to Ivy for advice over any of the other girls.”
“So you believe there are levels.”
“I’m not religious,” he said flatly. “I was baptized as baby, went to church as a kid, then grew up and believed my own thing. But I believe there’s… something… out there that’s greater than all of us, and I guess I do believe in the notion of soulmates. I just believe that you only meet one kind in your life, maybe not all of them. Maybe there’s a book-loving, sport-hating, wood-polish-overusing monk in Outer Mongolia who’s your soulmate.”
I fought a laugh. “Do you not think you’re mine?”
His smile sent butterflies fluttering through my belly. “I don’t know. On one hand, I think we couldn’t be more opposite. I love sport, I work out daily, I teach people how to take better physical care of themselves. You begrudgingly do yoga, break out in hives any time a football game is on TV, and own a store that encourages sitting on your arse and snacking all day.”
Personally, I saw no problem with that.
“Okay, you lose the high ground there because I’ve seen you eat an entire tub of Pringles in one sitting while reading.”
“Hey, I never said it was a bad thing.” He laughed. “Just pointing out how very different we are. On the surface, people would say there’s no way we could be, but I think that’s a good thing.”
“How is that a good thing?”
“It’s good because this is new. Yeah, we’re great friends and we get along, but your reservations about crossing the line were founded. We have to learn to get along as a couple and live together as one. Our differences could be what holds us together. I’ll eventually drag you for hikes where I promise you can listen to an audiobook and you’ll eventually make me turn off the TV and read more.”
“That sounds dreadful.”
“But it’ll work.” He smiled wider. “I have a feeling.”
“You have a feeling, do you?”
“It’s mostly in my pants because you’re really not wearing a lot of clothing.”
I looked down.
It wasn’t a lie.
I was wearing old pajama shorts and a tank top from the store that was one size too big… And no bra.
“Oh,” I squeaked.
“And it’s a very uncomfortable feeling since we’re taking things slow.”
I licked my lips. “What if we… sped it up a little?”
Dylan’s eyebrows shot up. “Sped it up?”
“Yeah. Like… fixed the problem in your pants.”
“My erection is a problem?”
“Yes. It’s over there with you and of no use to me at all right now.”
He burst out laughing and released his mug. Slowly, he walked around the island and stopped in front of me. I was on a stool, which put me closer to his cock than anything.
He peered down at me, reaching out to cup the side of my face. “Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“This makes you my girlfriend.”
Laughing, I rested my head against his chest. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”
“Oh, that’s how this works.” He tilted my head up and leaned down, pressing his lips against mine. I parted my legs so he could move closer, and my fingers fisted his t-shirt as he slowly kissed me.
I reveled in every touch. His fingers as they slid into my hair, his lips as they moved across mine, his eyelashes as they fluttered against my cheekbone.
And oh, my God. I was so ready to do this.
I kissed him back just as effortlessly. It was so easy, so right, so comfortable, and a part of me was so annoyed at myself for not doing this before. I should have done this, I should have given in. I should have just let my body and my heart take control instead of my head.
I was so fucking stupid.
Dylan tilted my head back with a light tug on my hair. With his hand still wrapped in it, I let my eyes flutter shut as he kissed down my neck. Heat rushed through me, and I felt more alive than I had in a long time.
How could one person’s touch make me feel this way?
It was impossible.
Yet here it was. Happening.
My fingers twitched, still wrapped in his shirt. It was a shirt I wanted removed, and I made that known with a muttered, “Take it off.”
Dylan obliged, pulling it over his head and throwing it to the floor. When he kissed me again, it was more urgent, more needy. Desperation tinged every bit of it, and my fingertips glided over his soft skin, feeling every dip and curve and dimple of his lower back and his sides.
