My jaw clenches. “He what?”
“Joking,” she says with a small laugh. “There’s no other guy, Killer. Only you. I’d love to have coffee with you.”
“Fucking hell, that’s a relief.”
I claim the chair across from her, and this time there’re no awkward pauses. No uncertainty lingering in the air.
Just two people who still care deeply for each other enjoying a warm drink together.
THIRTY
Jhene
One month later…
There’s a very large, very naked Irishman in my bed, and to be honest, I have zero complaints.
Killian’s sprawled out beside me, one muscular arm draped across my waist and his face half buried in the pillow. His dark hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, and he’s sporting a vague bruise on his jaw from his last boxing match.
I’m at ease waking up like this, our bodies pressed close in the chilly November morning. Killian’s warm like a furnace and the weight of him feels good.
It reminds me how secure being with him makes me feel.
My fingers slide through his hair, and I think about how I could get used to this again.
…actually, I already have.
It’s been about a month since he showed up at the coffee shop for our so-called coffee date. He hilariously pretended as if it was coincidence, then quickly abandoned that idea to be honest.
To tell me how he wanted to see me again.
We talked for hours that afternoon. About our relationship and our feelings and where we were mentally and everything in between.
It was a heavy conversation, but also a light and gratifying one too.
By the end, he asked me out again, and I smiled and saidyes.
We’ve started off by taking things slow. Movie dates and dinner at our favorite spots around Brooklyn.
But we’ve also accepted that we care deeply about each other and won’t bother holding ourselves back either.
We live separately but spend a lot of our free time in each other’s orbit, trading off whose apartment we crash at depending on the night. He sleeps over at my place a couple times a week, and I do the same at his studio.
So far it’s working for us, and I don’t mind.
…I also don’t mind when Killian stirs and instinctively pulls me closer. He’s still drowsy as he releases a throaty grunt and then his lips are brushing my shoulder.
I never thought I’d be the kind of girl who enjoys affection this early, but Killian Rourke has a way of making mornings interesting.
His sleepy kiss sends warmth spreading through my entire body. I squirm against him, fingers still nestled in his hair.
“Morning,” he mumbles.
I giggle. “Morning yourself.”
He gives another grunt, his hands sliding up my spine, tracing patterns on bare skin. I shudder through it, instantly turned on by his touch.
Killian tends to have that effect on me. He’d argue I have the same effect on him.
