“The real stuff?” His deep voice has gone soft and wow I like it.
“Yeah.”
“Like how I haven’t been able to focus on work all week because I keep wondering what you’re doing? Or how I made that pasta because the thought of you not eating made mephysically angry? Or how I’ve checked your light every night to make sure you made it back safe?”
“Dean...”
“Or how about the fact that you’re leaving in two days and I can’t decide if that’s the best or worst thing that could ever happen to me?”
“Why would it be the best?”
“Because maybe then I could get my damn life back.”
“And the worst?”
He looks at me like I’m being deliberately obtuse. “You know why.”
“I really don’t.”
“Poppy.”
“What? I’m just a type-A wedding planner who—”
He kisses me.
Just… does it. Hands framing my face, mouth hot and desperate and tasting like mint toothpaste and lust and oh.
OH.
I kiss him back because what else am I supposed to do? My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, and he makes this sound—this broken, grateful sound—that shoots straight through me.
“Still mad,” I mumble against his mouth.
“I know.” He kisses me again. Harder. “I’m sorry.”
“You posted about me on Reddit.”
“I’m an idiot.” His hands slide into my hair. “Forgive me?”
“I posted about you too.”
He pulls back. “What?”
“About five minutes ago. Called you a stuck-up control freak who’s allergic to fun.”
“Am I?”
“Little bit.”
“What else?”
“Said you look unfairly good in a suit.”
His mouth quirks. “Unfairly?”
“It’s rude. The whole…” I gesture at him. “Thing you’ve got going on.”
“Thing?”
