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“I…” A grin. “I do, honey.” A breath, her expression growing serious. “And I like you and I really like what we’re building…even if it still freaks me out sometimes.”
“Billie.”
“I’m good.”
I touched her cheek. “If it’s too soon—”
“It’s not.” And then before I could say anything else, my woman—my strong, smart, capable woman shook off her worry and fell back onto what we both knew. Snark and sarcasm and love. “Also, note that my agreement mostly comes because your mattress is a hell of a lot better than my couch.”
I chuckled. “That much is true.”
She settled back down on my chest, holding me close, her fingers drifting in random patterns on my skin.
Wesettled.
In this bed.
In each other.
Then again, we’d been doing that for a while, hadn’t we?
Drifting toward friendship, toward companionship. Now towardmore.
Thank fuck.
I needed this woman in my life.
Forever.
Relaxing back into the mattress, I let my eyes slide closed, let sleep approach.
“Does this mean you’ll clear out space for my washi tape?”
My lids flew open.
And…forget sleep.
We needed to celebrate this.
Laughter bubbled up in my chest, boiled over. “Yeah, baby,” I said, rolling us, tugging up the hem of the jersey, yanking it over her head.
It ended up on the floor.
But I was too busy to worry about its final destination.
Not when I was welcoming my woman home.
And for the record, I made room for her stickers and planners too.
Forty-Two
Billie Rose
Itugged at the handle of Joel’s—nowour—front door, my planner pack tucked under one arm, my phone with my calendar app open held tight in my hand.
A roll of washi tape on my thumb.
My foot needing to join in on the action of opening Joel’s front door.
