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I laugh and Jonas peers down at me. “What’s so funny?”
He leans in close and I cup my mouth to his ear. “Little love-hate relationship between Micah and the woman behind the bar.” Jonas looks to the woman in question and nods. “Not sure if they’re dating or have dated, but there’s definite tension.”
Micah delivers the drinks to the table then darts behind the bar to help. We sip our drinks and catch up on life. Before long, everyone drifts out to the dance floor while Jonas and I hang back at the table.
Jonas faces me, snakes his arms around my waist, and hauls me closer to him. “Want to dance when they wear out?” Lacing my fingers behind his neck, I nod.
His gaze holds mine for a beat before dropping to my lips. Without preamble, he kisses me breathless. The flashing lights and thumping music fade away. Wet heat traces the seam of my lips and I open up. With hundreds of people nearby, Jonas kisses me wild.
Our lips break apart, but he peppers kisses along my jaw. When he reaches my ear, he sucks the lobe between his lips and growls. “Autumn.” My moan in response vibrates my chest. “Move in with me.”
I fist his shirt and bite near the collar at the base of his throat. He growls again, fueling the flame in me. “God, I want to.”
Jonas leans back and I immediately miss his weight on my nipples. Finger under my chin, he tilts my head back. “Then say yes.”
Music blares from every corner and hidden speakers in the ceiling. Sweaty bodies gyrate on the dance floor and near the tables. Upbeat energy bounces off every surface. And yet, it all disappears as I study how the blue marries gold in Jonas’s irises.
This is the second time Jonas has proposed Clementine and I move in with him. The first was a slip of the tongue at his parent’s a few nights ago. After I told him I wanted to discuss it in private, rehashing the subject hasn’t happened. Until now.
Will Jonas be upset if I tell him I decided the very same night? That as he drifted to sleep, I imagined—not for the first time—what living together would be like. Waking up next to him every morning and falling asleep in his arms. I wanted to rouse him from sleep and tell him yes. But so many people say making rash decisions isn’t smart. So, I simmered on it.
With each passing minute, hour, day, the desire to say yes expanded in my chest. Consumed me. Begged to be let out.
I lift up on my tiptoes and press a kiss to his lips. “Yes,” I whisper, breathy.
Leaning back, his eyes dart between mine. “Yes?”
I nod and, in a blink, he hoists me off the floor and spins me in circles. Glad I haven’t drunk much. My feet hit the floor and he crashes his lips to mine. Tasting me. Devouring me. I fist his hair. Moan when he kneads my hips and grinds me to him.
“Get a room,” Micah yells from the bar. Catcalls and wolf whistles echo around us as we peel apart.
As Jonas flips Micah off, the blonde bartender yells something at Micah I don’t hear. But if the curl of her lip is any indication, she probably told him to shut up or mind his own business.
As our group trickles back to the table, we share our news. Cheers erupt as the ladies crowd around me and squeal. The guys exchange fist bumps or shoulder hug-slaps. Once the congratulations die down, we lose ourselves to the music.
Jonas threads his fingers with mine and walks backward toward the dance floor, tugging me along. His smile illuminates the dark club as he pins us chest to chest, palms flat on my low back. Our bodies grind and sway. Sweat slicks our skin and drips from our temples. Jonas drops his forehead to mine and holds my gaze.
“I love you,” he mouths. His silent declaration louder than the thumping music.
“Love you, too.”
He dips his chin and tastes my lips. One song bleeds into another. Then another. All the while, Jonas and I sway in the middle of the dance floor, lips locked, tongues tasting, oblivious to the world around us.
When he breaks the kiss and we come up for air, he whispers in my ear. “Let’s go home, scarlet.”
Better words have never been said. “Let’s go home,” I repeat.
TWENTY-EIGHT
JONAS
For someone who cohabitated in a small apartment with another adult and a child, Autumn has more shit than imaginable.
“We may have to add another room to the house,” I tease, heaving another box from the floor.
Autumn sticks her tongue out. “Ha ha. If we fit everything in here” —she waves her arm around the bedroom— “we can fit it into the house.”
My house—our house—may be small, but I have upgraded majority of it over the years. Done my fair share of walks through the Ikea showroom for innovative ideas in small spaces. Learned how to make the best of unused wall space. And although my belongings don’t fill all the shelves and cubbies and rods in the closet, I made the most of the space when updating it.
