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Not that I cared while Adam was running his mouth over mine and letting me suck his fingers clean.
We decided to save the rest of the dessert for later, though.
He settled next to me on the couch, and pulled me into his lap. How was this so easy?
“My first Valentine—” I snapped my jaw shut in horror as the words rushed past my lips. Was I really about to ruin this amazing moment by bringing up that part of my past? “Never mind.”
“What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my deceased husband.”
“Is it a good memory?”
I expected him to sayyou’re rightor change the subject or anything besides prodding for more. But the way Adam kept his hands wrapped loosely around my waist, and his casual tone, said he was genuinely interested.
“They’re bittersweet,” I said. “But there’s an emphasis on thesweet.”
Adam squeezed my hip. “I know you didn’t pop into existence two weeks ago just for me. I won’t be upset that you loved someone else as long as you don’t expect me to be him.”
I’d be more upset if Adam started acting like anyone other than himself. “I don’t.”
“Then tell me. Your first Valentine.”
I nudged the edge of the memory, not sure I wanted to tug it loose. When the pain I expected didn’t pulse in my heart, I dared unwrap the images. “He brought me daisies from the neighbor’s yard, and drew me a comic strip of us going on a date.”
“Was he an artist?”
Both of us had been discouraged from touching our more creative sides. That wasn’t how people earned a living as adults. “Only casually. But he had a natural talent for it.”
“He sounds like a good guy. Not that you’d love anyone who wasn’t.” Adam’s tone was kind and sincere.
This was a bit surreal, but at the same time it was incredible. Sitting on the lap of a younger, gorgeous man, and talking about my husband as if it were the most natural subject.
“What about you? Do you have a good Valentine’s Day story?” Was I sure I wanted to ask that? I may not be able to tug up the pleasantness as easily as Adam did, especially if he had some tale about an ex he’d had amazing, kinky, all-night sex with. The kind of evening I didn’t even know enough about to imagine.
Though, my mind was trying.
“Today pretty much tops my list.” Adam’s words were sweet, but I wasn’t sure I bought it.
“We made a mess eating fruit and now we’re stuck on my couch because I have a twisted ankle.”
He nuzzled my hair. “It’s not the what, it’s the who. Though, the what is pretty good too.”
“And that’s it? No other Valentine’s Day compares?” Why was I pushing this?
“You don’t want to hear about the other one.”
Uncertainty clenched in my gut. Maybe he was right. “You just listened to me, of course I do. I already know you’ve been with other people,” I said.
“But this story is about Deacon.”
Oh. The man I shouldn’t be missing. The one who didn’t matter beyond being a casual friend, because I was cuddling with his best friend and enjoying the hell out of it.
Adam traced his thumb lightly along my skin, above the waistband of my sweats. “You can take the question back, if you’d like.”
“I absolutely cannot. I’d like to know.” Partly out of curiosity, and because it was polite to listen, and at least as much because I was more of a masochist than I realized. I needed to know more about how the two of them fit together.
Adam let out a laugh-sigh. “So, I’d lost my father about six months earlier, and my girlfriend walked away from me shortly after that because…” His whole body seemed to deflate beneath me when he sighed. “I didn’t deal well with his passing.”
