“Good?” he asked after a minute, having transformed from sexpot back to golden retriever. His weight on top of mine was crushing but comfortable, and I looped an arm around his neck, using the last of my energy to pat him on the cheek.
“Good,” I managed.
And then, with an ease that I thought impossible for someone who constantly chased sleep, I promptly passed out.
Chapter Sixteen
Mal
Mal awoke, for the first time in over two years, to another person in his bed. Light poured into his bedroom from its single window, bleaching his pale blue sheets almost white and bathing his delightfully curvy bedfellow in an almost angelic light. He blinked himself back into awareness, watching her face. Asleep, with all of her ferocity locked away, Jo’s features were actually cute: her button nose pairing well with her full, round lips, high cheeks, and long curling eyelashes. She would be mad about her hair when she woke up—they’d fallen asleep far too suddenly to remember bonnets or satin pillowcases—but he’d never seen a sight more beautiful than this. Josephine Boateng, naked and sated, in his bed.
“I think I’m in love with you, you know,” he said softly.
Jo hummed, not opening her eyes.
“Good morning to you too,” she said. She reached for him blindly, then, finding his arm, dragged him back under the covers. He kissed her, sure she could feel his heart thundering through his chest, and she opened her eyes, forcing him to watch as she licked her palm and reached between them. She stroked him withslow, languid movements, her grip already sure; then, after clumsily slipping on a condom, turned to her side and guided him into her. She was warm, tight, wet, and he found himself too close too soon, the sight of her body rocking against his in broad daylight too stimulating for any hope of longevity. When they were done, reveling in the aftershocks, Jo kissed him deep and slow, morning breath be damned.
“I really, really like you,” Jo said. Her voice sounded ragged, stripped of its usual bravado. “I just think... I probably shouldn’t be saying the wordloveyet.”
Mal nodded, fighting to keep his expression even. He’d known that Jo didn’t quite feel the same, but hearing it out loud stung. All things considered, she’d reacted very well to him dropping theLbomb; there had been no snickering, no queasily deliveredthank yousss, and, by the way, she was still tucked into his arms, no haste to leave his bed. Also, the sex. That she’d initiated. That had to bode well for him, right?
“It’s okay,” Mal said. “I wasn’t expecting you to say it back. Just wanted to let you know where I was at.”
Jo nodded slowly, then blinked away, and he was shocked to see that her eyes had welled with tears.
“Whoa,” he said. “Please don’t cry. I’ll be fine—”
“No, no, I know,” Jo said, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “It’s silly. But. Um. No one’s ever told me they loved me before. At least, not in the way you mean.”
“Never?” Mal said. He couldn’t imagine that a woman like Jo didn’t have a hundred suitors, a thousand guys who would be willing to fight to the death to swap places with him right now. “You don’t think that, maybe, someone’s felt this way before but wasn’t able to tell you?”
Jo’s laughter was a single bark.
“No way. I’ve only been hot for five years or so. Boys used to ask me out as ajoke.” She paused. “Wow. I feel like we’ve talked abouteverything, but somehow I’ve neglected to ask you about your dating life. Let me guess. Trail of broken hearts left in your wake?”
Mal rolled onto his back, propping his head up onto a pillow.
“I had some fun in college,” he confessed. “But, um, not really, no. One long-term relationship. Nothing else outside of that.”
Jo draped an arm over his chest, tracing the sparse hairs.
“One long-term relationship,” she repeated, mimicking his gruff tone. He felt rather than saw her smirk against his skin. “There’s a four-word story if I’ve ever heard one. It’s giving: ‘Baby shoes, never worn.’”
Mal cracked a smile that was half grimace. It disappointed him some that his bitterness was still so conspicuous, like he should have been a little closer to apathy by now.
“Yeah, well, it’s not nearly as tragic as that,” he said, half a lie.
Jo propped herself up on one arm, and Mal realized, with some annoyance, that he was going to spend his first morning after with Josephine Boateng talking about his ex.
“How long were you together?” she asked.
“Ten years,” he said, predicting Jo’s gasp and preemptively answering her next question. “Broke up two and a half years ago.”
“Ten years,” Jo repeated. She sounded, to his relief, curious rather than put off. She drew something around his nipple with her pointer finger: A star? “Why’d you split? Grew apart?”
Mal scoffed. “Nah,” he said. “It was kind of a unilateral decision. I came home after a trip, and she’d moved out.”
Just as he’d expected, the amusement fell from Jo’s face like a candle being blown out.
