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His handsome face looked so young, blissfully unaware and deep in sleep. His dark lashes rested softly against his cheeks as soft breaths puffed out from his lips. I ran my fingers through the messy strands of his jet-black hair as I tried to recount last night’s events.
One thing was certain; I had definitely danced and drunk my ass off. It had been an all-in kind of night, and I had forced Sean and Thatch to close the bar down with me, even demanding Taco Bell on the drive home. Good thinking, Cassie. That fast food had probably saved me from a morning of praying to the porcelain gods.
Thatch stirred in his sleep. His foggy, dark eyes met mine.
“Good morning,” I said with a soft smile.
“Morning, honey,” he said in a raspy voice, but he didn’t move his head from my chest. Both of his hands were now holding on to my boobs and squeezing them playfully. “Mmm,” he moaned. “I need to add a new rule. Number fifty-one. These tits are my pillows.”
I laughed and flicked his forehead with my index finger.
“Ow, fuck,” he responded through a laugh. “What was that for?”
“I’m about to revoke your rule-making rights. You’ve made over twelve rules in the past forty-eight hours.”
He peeked up at me through sleepy eyes. “Rule number fifty-two. You can never revoke my rule-making rights.”
I grinned and decided to add a rule of my own. “Rule number fifty-three. If one of us has to be the designated driver, it will always be you.”
He chuckled. “I’ll actually agree to that one.”
I quirked a brow in surprise. “Really?”
“I think I have more fun watching you get drunk and wild than I actually do getting blitzed myself.”
“That’s crazy talk,” I refuted. “No one likes being the sober person dealing with a drunken idiot.”
“Yeah, but you’re an exception. You’re my favorite drunken idiot.”
A few giggles slipped past my lips, and his smile turned wide and blinding in response. He rested his chin on my chest and gazed up at me. His eyes were so endearing—full of zero pretense or judgment—and their dark depths revealed that every word coming out of his mouth was the truth.
“You took care of me last night, didn’t you?”
He shrugged. “I kept an eye on things, but I mostly just sat back, chatted with Sean, and let you do your thing. Did you have fun last night?”
I was with you. Of course, I had fun.
“I did,” I answered with a nod. “What about you?”
“Besides worrying about that old guy having a heart attack, I had a fantastic night.”
I tilted my head to the side. “What old guy?”
“Your dance partner for most of the night.”
“I danced with an old guy?”
He nodded as a slow, amused grin consumed his face.
The wheels started to turn, and my brain caught up with the hazy memories. “Oh…the old guy in the blue blazer? The one who kept pelvic thrusting his geriatric crotch into my ass?”
Thatch’s face turned up with hilarity. “In his defense, you were encouraging his senior citizen dance moves.”
I cracked up at that. “Oh, man. I bet Sean was thrilled. How bad did I embarrass him last night?”
“Like on a scale of zero to ten?”
I nodded.
One of his hands left my boobs and slid a lock of hair behind my ear. “I’d say a twelve, maybe? Twelve and a half, tops?”
“Fantastic.” I fist-pumped the air. “The night was a success, then.”
He chuckled.
“What about you? How bad did I embarrass you?”
He tilted his head in amusement. “You didn’t embarrass me.”
“Oh, come on.” I raised a knowing brow. “Be honest, Thatcher.”
“Honey, you didn’t embarrass me,” he responded in an even tone. “I thoroughly enjoyed watching you have a good time.”
“Even when I was grinding on the old dude?”
He grinned. “Especially when you were grinding on the old dude.”
My sleepy brain buzzed at the abnormality overload. That was never a guy’s reaction.
This man. What was I going to do with him?
He never failed to amaze me with his abnormal yet refreshing responses to my behavior. Thatch had become someone in my life that I could always rely on. Someone I could trust to have my back no matter what. Those kinds of people were so rare in a world filled with selfish motives and one-track minds. I felt lucky I had found someone like that in him.
Yeah, but how long will it last?
Anxiety clawed at my chest at that train of thought. We had started our relationship on a joke, constantly trying to one-up and out-prank each other, but somewhere along the way, things had changed. Sure, I was highly skilled at avoiding anything related to commitment or giving someone else any form of control over me, but I also wasn’t blind to what was happening with us. Somewhere along the way we had hopped on this path of something that resembled an actual relationship.
And if I was honest with myself, I didn’t want this, whatever it was, to end.
I didn’t know where I wanted it to go, but I knew to the root of my soul, I didn’t want it to be over. I was never one who looked toward the future, but with Thatch, I was having a hard time not looking toward the future.
I couldn’t imagine my day-to-day life without him in it.
“What are you thinking about, honey?” he asked, voice soft. His hand caressed my cheek as his eyes stared into mine.
I don’t want to fuck this up. I don’t want to lose you.
I leaned into his touch. “No matter what happens between us, we’ll always be close, right?”
His brows raised in confusion. “Close?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “Me and you, we’ll always be…” I stopped midsentence when I couldn’t find the strength to say all of the things I really wanted to say. My heart and brain were at war, one wanting to profess something far stronger than like, while the other froze up in fear of the unknown.
I had never been the type of woman who stayed with one thing for more than a short amount of time. So how could I ask him for any kind of long-term commitment or declaration of his feelings for me if I wasn’t certain my current feelings for him would never change?
But they won’t change. He’s your person, you fucking commitment-phobic moron.
Thatch didn’t pry or press for an explanation. For several quiet moments, his gaze didn’t leave mine. His eyes searched for my unsaid words, and when he found whatever he was looking for, he changed positions—his body hovering over mine and his hands resting beside my head.
“Don’t worry, honey,” he said, his lips mere inches from mine. “We’re on the same page.”
“But how do you know?” I asked. “What if we’re not even reading the same fucking book?”
“Because I know.” His mouth quirked up at the corners as a confident smile took over his lips. “We’re on the same word, in the same paragraph, on the same page, in the same fantastic fucking book.”
“But how do you know?”
“Because it’s our book, Cassie. Yours and mine. This is our story, and I’ll be damned if I let it end badly.”
I know what you’re thinking.
Avoiding party of two?
Our table is ready.
But should you expect anything less confusing from us? This is Thatch and me we’re talking about here. We could have a reality show called Defying Normal.
But at least we are on the same show.
He chuckled softly as his eyes softened to caramel. Nose to nose, all I could see was Thatch’s face highlighted by the soft morning sun. His eyes were gleaming and dark as they studied me. His gaze moved to my lips and stayed there for a beat as he just took me in. His mouth was close. So close that our breaths mingled. And God, I loved his mouth. His full, soft lips. I loved the taste and lush feel of those perfect lips.
Heat pooled in my belly until it consumed my entire body. I was desperate for him, for everything he could give me. I reached up and traced his jaw with my fingers.
“Same fucking page,” he repeated, but he didn’t wait for my response.
He crushed his lips to mine and kissed me like a man starved for my taste, my breaths, my heart. Around and straight down the center, his tongue worked mine until I couldn’t tell where his ended and mine began. The fabric of my pajama shorts bunched easily in the grip of his hands as he pulled them away from my hips and down until his palms met the bare skin of my ass.
“You feel so goddamn good,” he breathed into the tiny sliver of space between my lips. I sucked it in and let it overwhelm me, my head falling back until his lips had nowhere to go but my throat.
His tongue traced the line of my pulsing vein, and my chest heaved. Fuck. This would make some fantastic vampire porn.
Easing his weight off of me, he forced my shorts down the rest of the way and licked his top lip before biting the bottom with a groan. “No panties, baby?” One thick finger filled me in a stroke, but it didn’t stay long. He pulled it back and sucked it clean. “You have the sweetest pussy. All that attitude must turn right to sugar.”
I rolled my eyes until he stood up and shoved his boxer briefs straight to the ground.
A lot of fucking inches, hard, purple, and angry, brought my gaze right back.
