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And the sex?
Holy hell. I’m not sure what Cole and I do even qualifies as sex. It’s like soul-gasms each and every time. He has kissed every inch of my body, from the spine of my back to the sensitive spot beneath my ear, my pinkie toes to the crooks of my elbows. There’s no dive and done, or worse, leaving me to handle things myself. He takes his time every time, building a connection between us that makes me feel claimed, body and soul. He pours himself into me, physically but also emotionally, unflinchingly meeting my eyes with every orgasm like he’s wowed by what happens between us and it wouldn’t, couldn’t, be possible with anyone else.
I’m glad he gave me time to be ready for him, for this, for us. I’m not sure I would’ve been able to handle it otherwise. But now? I appreciate Cole for what and who he is, the same way he does with me.
“I’m happy,” I answer Mason. I still ramble too much. It’s a habit I’ll never break, but I also find that I can say what I’m thinking or feeling without all the distractions in my head. I’m not as worried about what people will say back or think, so I don’t have to couch my answers in loads of extra information to keep any negative reactions at bay.
“Regular servings of deep dicking will do that,” he teases with a grin. He hasn’t dated since breaking up with Greta, but his beard is on its way to regrowing, and he’s seemed happier without Greta’s constant ‘fixing’ of things that weren’t wrong in the first place. “How’re things with Prince Charming?”
I laugh. Everyone here thinks they met Cole when he came up to bring me snacks, and no matter how many times I tell them that he’s usually a Grumpy Gus who doesn’t like people, only me, they won’t believe me. His charming mask was too good.
“So great!” I gush. I want to say more, but I also get that Cole and I are different, individually and together, and like Luna, Samantha, and Kayla, not everyone will understand the way we are with each other. At least not at first. When Mason waves a hand, signaling ‘gimme more’, I stick to the basics. “We went to his brother’s wedding and it was stunning. All gold and white, with flowers and tulle everywhere. I met his whole family again, all the brothers and his sister. Plus, his mom and dad, and even his grandparents. That was just a drive-by on the dance floor, but his grandma is the cutest and told me she loved my hair.” I grin widely, remembering the older couple swaying to a Sinatra song. “And all week, we’ve been taking turns staying at each other’s places. It feels cozy, like I know he’ll be sitting on the couch, waiting for me when I get home. We’ll curl up, talk, and stuff, and then fall asleep in each other’s arms. It’s really . . . adjectives, adjectives, adjectives,” I finish, waving my hands around as I run out of descriptors for how happy I am.
Mason smiles back. “I’m happy for you. Make sure you tell Gabriella that too. She could use a happily ever after ending, even if it’s someone else’s, to help her keep the faith that there are good ones out there.”
Frowning, I ask, “Did something happen?”
Mason looks over his shoulder, making sure no one else is at the nurse’s station to overhear, but still whispers, “Yeah, it didn’t get too far, thankfully. Let’s just say there’s a reason she does full recon on guys before meeting them in person. The dating pool is a dark, ugly place with sharks hiding in plain sight.”
“Oh! I hate that. Maybe her Prince Charming is still out there, and she’ll find him soon. Or maybe he’ll stumble into her remote cabin in the woods, and she’ll attack him with bear spray?” I suggest hopefully, knowing that sounds like a worst-case scenario, not a best, but it worked for me.
“Yeah,” Mason says with a shrug. “She’s okay. Could probably use a pick-me-up, though.” Quieter, he adds, “Or a hook-up without a record or an STI.”
I cringe. That makes me sad for Gabriella who is gorgeous, brilliant, and so big-hearted. But one day, she’ll find The One. I have to believe that. And then all the hardships will be a part of her story on how she found happiness. In the meantime, the struggle is real.
“Other than stuff, what’s on the agenda for tonight?” Mason asks, using my euphemism for sex. I’m not a prude, but I also don’t go around spilling private details, despite the fact that I basically share everything else, intentionally or not.
“Oh, my God! I haven’t told you?” I say, then slap my hand over my mouth because that was definitely too loud. Too late, though, because one of the lights on the screen comes on. I hold a finger up to Mason and answer, “Yes, Mrs. Donald?”
