Her cheeks warmed. “So you’re not mad?”
“I could never be mad at you.” I cupped her jaw in my palm, finding comfort in the warmth of her skin. “If you want to talkabout it, if you think that’ll make you feel closer to me, we can. I just figured it hit too close to home. Probably freaked you out that he managed to find Simone. I’m sure part of you was scared that your ex could do the same. But if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.”
She shivered, likely trying to trap in a shudder. It took her a moment to whisper, “I wouldn’t say scared. Maybe deep down, yeah, but I was just pissed. Still am. That bastard showed up and hurt my friend, and I hate him for that. I was scared for her, but all I’ve ever felt for that son of a bitch is rage.”
The most I could do was validate her. “You have every right to feel that way.”
“Does that count?” She gave a half smile. “Talking about that, it was opening up, right?”
A quiet laugh escaped me. “I think it’s a start, yeah.”
Not like I had the right to judge. I wasn’t the most open of books either.
“Good. Because I don’t want you to think we can’t talk about how we feel,” she said, voice still quiet. “I feel a lot for you, and I want to make sure you know that. I want you to know how much you mean to me. When I wake up in the mornings, you’re the first person I think about. I go to bed thinking about you. Sometimes I get lost in little fantasies about us together, and… I don’t know.”
I knew that. If she didn’t care for me as much as she did, she wouldn’t be here right now. There wouldn’t have been dates and texts throughout the day checking in on each other. She wouldn’t have chosen to take her lunch when I took mine, just so we could sit together for an hour each afternoon.
Still, my chest warmed at hearing those words in her voice. I didn’t know what was happening as it left my lips. All the control I kept over the last few months thoughtlessly spilled out.
“I love you too, Gwen.”
Slowly, her lips parted. Nothing came out. Her cheeks turned a brighter shade of red.
Just when I was about to tell her that she didn’t have to say it back, that I wasn’t sure why I said it now of all times, she grabbed hold of my face, and she pulled me in.
Our lips touched, and then our chests, and then every inch of our bodies. Her fingers slid down my neck, then my shoulders, like she was taking in every corner of me. And the timing may not have been right, but her touch was entrancing.
For a heartbeat, maybe two, my body took on a mind of its own. I basked in the beauty of her curves, the heat of her skin. That honey, cake-like perfume that radiated from her chest, her neck, was like dessert against my tongue.
The breathless sigh that parted her lips as her legs spread around my waist, wrapping my back, snapped me back into reality. Into control.
“Gwen,” I whispered, pulling back to look at her. I kept one hand around her waist, the other on her cheek, and shook my head. “You have a lot going on right now. We shouldn’t?—”
“I love you too.”
She said it with more confidence than she’d ever said anything. Snarky, bossy, she’d been many times. But this was sincerity. Honesty.
“I’ve loved you for a long time,” she said, inches from my face, “and now it’s turned into a different type of love. The kind I’ve never felt before. I don’t think feelings this big, this powerful, come around often. And I think if I get caught up in timing or what every moment is supposed to be, I’ll lose out on the ones that aremeantto be. Life’s too short. One second, you’re here, avoiding conversations you know you should have, avoiding plans you know you want to make, trying to forget bad things that have happened, stressing and stressing and never slowing down to be grateful, to enjoy where you are. Then thenext second, you’re gone. It’s over. You’re dead, and you didn’t get what you wanted. I know what I want. And it’s you. I want you.”
She took hold of my shoulder and pushed me gently onto my back. Her knees opened around me. But her expression wasn’t half as confident as her speech had been. I saw the hesitance in her shaking fingers.
“Don’t tell me I have too much going on right now,” she whispered. “Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”
It only took half a heartbeat to understand what that hesitation was. Fear. She was afraid that she had poured everything out for me, that she did exactly what Rhiannon told her to, and it still wasn’t enough. She wanted to find safety in vulnerability together, but if I rejected her, I would confirm that fear she never dared admit aloud.
I’m not what he wants. I’m not whatanyonewants.
But Gwen was everything. If I could paint the woman of my dreams, it would be Gwen Kane.
She wasn’t drunk or high. She initiated this. She made the decision to climb on top of me, to profess her love, in a moment of deep vulnerability.
How could I turn her down when this was exactly what I wanted too?
“You know it’s not.” One hand on her cheek again, the other swept down the side of her torso. I looped an arm around her waist and tugged her down to me. A quiet gasp fell from her parted mouth. I kissed her lips just as her smile formed.
Against them, between brushes of our lips, I whispered, “Whatever you want, if I can give it, it’s yours.”
