Page 170 of Reeves

"No. Not until we know what this looks like."

The words hang there, still unresolved. But somehow I feel like we both understand the stakes. Nothing has changed, yet everything has.

Reeves sets down his glass and gets up, kneeling in front of me. His arms frame my thighs and his hands pull my ass, bringing me closer to him.

"Charli, I just want to be around. I want to be with you. Withhim. I want this. Give me time to figure out how to make that work with my job. Don’t shut me out."

"I wish it were that simple, Reeves. It's a start. I just don't want you to leave and him to get hurt."

“I’m here, Charli.”

THIRTY-NINE

Reeves

Going Home:In a jazz funeral, going home is not an ending. It is what the whole procession has been moving toward.

Her legs shiftagainst my sides.

I'm here.

My hands slide up her thighs, thumbs tracing the hem of her dress. She doesn't pull away. Her pupils dilate slightly.

"Reeves."

The way she says my name is soft, her breath catching at the end. Her hands don’t push me away.

I push the fabric higher, my palms flat against her skin. Warm and soft and exactly like I remember. Her breath catches when my thumbs brush the edge of her underwear.

"Let me."

Her hands move to my shoulders, gripping the fabric of my shirt. I lean closer, pressing my mouth to the inside of her knee. She tastes like salt and her citrus lotion.

I work my way up slowly, kissing every inch of exposed skin.Her fingers tighten in my shirt when I reach the sensitive spot just above her knee that always made her arch against me.

Her underwear is simple white cotton, nothing fancy. I hook my fingers in the waistband and look up at her face. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back against the couch.

"Look at me, Charli."

She opens her eyes. They're dark now, pupils blown wide.

"Can I taste you?"

Instead of answering, she lifts her hips. I slide the cotton down her legs and drop it on the floor beside us.

Her palm presses against my shoulder, fingers trembling slightly. Her breath comes in short, uneven bursts.

"Benjy's down the hall," she says as she cradles my face in her hands.

The words hit me like cold water, but not because I don't want this. Because I want it too much to think straight.

I move up her body, my face stopping inches from hers. Her warm breath rinses over me.

She shifts beneath me, and I have to close my eyes to keep from losing what little control I have left.

"We can't. Not here. Let's go to the bedroom."

She's right. Her hands are still on my shoulders, not pushing me away. Just holding on.