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“Yeah.” I breathed out slowly. I was leaning against the cabinet in the bathroom. “Pretty much.”
He looked down, taking the bottom of my shirt in his hands. “And this was his shirt?”
“Yeah,” I replied, watching him study the oversized t-shirt I was wearing. It was a dark gray AC/DC shirt with a hole in it right above my navel.
He closed his eyes, his arms on either side of me, and leaned his forehead against mine. My chest was tight, and I could feel an entire parade marching in my stomach. There were tingles flooding throughout my body, and I could feel his breath on me. His lips were so close to mine, if I moved only slightly, I could touch them with my own. It felt so intimate, the way we stood together—foreheads pressed together, breathing in synchrony.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” he whispered.
“It’s okay,” I replied, whispering now too and feeling the weight of what he was carrying. “It’s okay.”
“No.” He shook his head, eyes still closed, forehead still on mine. “It’s not. Because if I hadn’t left, you wouldn’t be wearing another man’s shirt.” He backed up only slightly to look at me.
I shrugged. “I don’t even like it. It’s just an old shirt. I only kept it for moments like this, like when my dog gets sprayed by a skunk.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “It’s just…”
“What?” I asked.
Say it.
“I should probably just go.” Tuck turned toward the door, and I grabbed his arm.
“Wait,” I said and he succumbed, moving in the direction I was pulling him, back to me. “It’s just what?”
Our eyes lingered on each other for a moment until Tuck spoke. “I only want you to be wearing one of my shirts.”
My breathing increased, my heart was racing, and I felt a lump in my throat fighting its way up. “You do?”
Both of his hands went to his head, and he ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes. God, yes, Lettie. I can’t fucking stand the thought of anyone else ever touching you. I’ve wanted to pull you into me and kiss you since the moment I laid eyes on you when I came back, and now you’re sitting here in some guy’s shirt, and it’s all my fault.” He added quickly, “And I don’t blame you. I told you not to wait on me, and I’m glad that you didn’t. I wanted you to live your life. It’s just, seeing it in front of me just reiterates what a terrible mistake I made. Seeing it in front of me… well, it’s kind of like a knife in my chest. Everything you had to endure alone.”
He meant the baby. I knew he meant losing the baby, and I was stunned silent, unsure of what move to make next in fear that I would scare him away. He was saying all the words I hadn’t realized I’d been waiting on. He was telling me there was another chance for us, that he was feeling all of the same feelings I was, and that he had been since he’d come back. Every electrical current I had been shoveling down into the depths of my heart were all confirmed.
“I thought you were over me. I thought you’d moved on,” I replied.
Tuck lifted me up with ease. He sat me on the bathroom counter and brought both of his hands to the side of my head, scrunching his fingers in my hair and making me ache for him. “I could never get over you, Lettie. I could try every day for as long as I live, and I would never not want you.”
I gasped as he pulled me in and our lips met each other for the first time in twelve years. We were not gentle or soft. The kiss was hard and passionate, the years of missing each other barreling out of our bodies. His tongue met mine, and when he let go and moved his lips to my neck, tucking my head back, I let out a moan.
I grasped onto his hair gently and brought his eyes to mine. “No one else ever mattered. Only you. No one else.”
He kissed me again and ran his teeth along my bottom lip, biting it softly. Then he stood up and stepped back. My lips were red and throbbing and begging for more. Tuck looked at Parker’s shirt, gripped the bottom hem, and then he ripped it off of me.
SIXTY-SIX
TUCK
Afterward,Lettie and I were both out of breath, tangled together on the bathroom floor, and I kissed the strip of freckles that trailed from her shoulder and down her back. She giggled, and I suddenly remembered that this spot on her shoulder was ticklish. I felt a wave of nostalgia watching her squirm and remembered how many times I had used that spot to playfully torture her.
“You’re still ticklish, huh?” I said, leaning back slightly.
She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Yes. I am. I don’t think you grow out of ticklish spots.”
“Maybe not,” I said as I leaned into her and kissed her in the same spot on the other side.
She laughed again. “Still ticklish!”
“Just checking,” I replied.
