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I squeezed his fingers as if sympathizing with him, then pulled them free as I assured him, “Well, you don’t have to worry about that now. Because we don’tsleeptogether anymore. Remember?”
He screwed up his face into a pout. “And that’s another thing. I want to come home. I don’t like my house anymore. It’s not home. This is my home.You’remy home. I wanna come back. And have sex with you. So much sex that you can’t walk right for a fucking week. No…for a month. So come on, please, Chloe…please. Stop pushing me away and let me come home.”
He reached for my hand again, but I skittered a step back and lifted my fingers out of his reach so that he couldn’t catch me.
With a moan, he fell face-first into my cushions.
I gaped at him, no longer feeling so dismissive about his drunken ramblings because he was being oddly specific about exactly how much he did want me, and it started to feel kind of real.
Oh God.
What if Luke really did want me?
That’s where I’d be done. I could argue with just about anything he said, but if he tried somethingphysicalwith me, like say—kissing me—I’d be down for the count. He’d have me right where he wanted me. I’d be putty in his hands.
“I jus’ want sex…” he slurred sleepily and closed his eyes, twisting a bit on the couch to get comfortable.
I watched him lie there for a good thirty seconds before a soft snore emerged from him. Then I heaved out a breath.
“Thank God.”
I wasn’t sure how much more sex talk I could honestly take.
Glad I didn’t have to find out, I shook my head and leaned over to take off his shoes. Then I set his bare feet on the couch cushions, made sure the rest of him looked like it was in a comfortable enough position, and I covered him with a throw blanket I had draped over the back of the couch.
“I want to have sex with you too,” I promised him softly as I touched his hair. Then, I turned away and went back to my room.
From there, I was able to get to sleep a lot easier than I thought I should’ve been able to.
But simply knowing Luke and I were back under the same roof together was apparently all I needed.
Dammit. I had it bad.
26CHLOE
The next morning, I woke up more rested than I’d been in days. Feeling like it was Christmas morning, I popped out of bed and tiptoed through the house, hurrying toward the front room as if anxious to see how many presents had been left under the tree.
But instead of any shiny, wrapped gifts, I found a half-naked man passed out on my couch, one leg and one arm draped over the side and brushing the floor. He must’ve gotten hot at some point in the night and kicked his blanket off before removing his shirt because they both lay in a crumpled heap not far from his shoes, and his glorious, bare back was on full display.
My stomach tightened achingly, and I released a quiet breath before silently tiptoeing closer.
I’d spent so many mornings hoping I could wake up before him so I could watch him sleep next to me, and most of the time, he beat me awake. But not today. Holding my breath, I reached out and barely touched a piece of stubby dark hair that was sticking out at an odd angle from his scalp. He had a horrible case of bedhead.
And I absolutely loved it. My fingers ached to dive in and plow through every strand he had.
I crouched beside him until we were almost at eye level with each other. His face was tilted my way, and his eyes were closed with his mouth hanging open. I smiled affectionately and gave in to one more craving to barely brush one finger over his eyebrow, and then I pulled my hand away, hugging it against my chest.
I really did love this man.
I had tried so hard not to. I’d spent years telling myself I hated him, over a decade determined to move on, fixated on finding love elsewhere, straight up denying how he always made me feel. But it hadn’t worked.
No matter where I turned, what I did, or who I moved toward,thiswas the man I wanted.
And I’m not even sure why. He could be immature and crude. He lacked a lot of sophistication and barely had any smooth edges. He drove me to irrational anger more often than not and had said things that cut deep.
But under all that, he was a good man. He had a good heart. He was dependable and safe; he’d always be there for me if I needed him. He loved my family and was already one of them. He was my heart and soul, and I was more attuned to him whenever he walked into a room than I was to anything else in the world. Plus, he could be as entertaining as hell, and he made my lady parts tingle like no one else ever had.
He was the north to my compass.
