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Anxious to be near him, I quickly lock my car, slamming the door shut behind me. A moment later, I’m standing in front of him, the word “hi” barely out of my mouth before his hands frame my face and his lips are on mine. I can’t help but smile into the kiss as I cling to his waist and tug myself to him. Breaking our kiss just enough to speak, he mutters, “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I say, pulling away to unlock my front door. I want to make up for our week apart and relax into the comfort of him, but I also need a shower.
I started a job at another bar and music venue a few days ago, knowing places would be hiring right before spring break season. It’s less stressful than Shot in the Dark, but I always feel the need to wash off work even if I’m not running my ass off. Troy closes and locks my door behind him and I kiss him again before taking a quick body shower. I throw on my black sleep shorts and tank top as Troy grabs a pair of gray sweats from his suitcase. He said he only had enough time before work to swing by and pick up his car after Nolan picked him up from the airport. I’m going to suggest he leaves a pair of pajamas here. Just the thought of mentioning him leaving something at my place gives me an urge to run, but I try to ignore it and allow the undeniable excitement I also feel by it take over.
I brush my teeth then head out to the living room where Troy sits on the couch waiting for me. I assume my go-to position, straddling him, my arms looping around his neck and sigh as I take a second to shamelessly let my eyes roam his shirtless body. He’s quiet, letting me do what I want while rubbing his hands against my freshly lotioned skin, up my thighs and under the edge of my shorts.
His attention is pulled from me, and curiosity flashes in his features as he looks to the space behind me. His hand moves to my back, bracing me as he leans forward so he can grab something from the coffee table.
He pulls the postcard between us with one hand, the other finding its place back on my thigh.
“Oh yeah, that’s for you,” I say.
“For me?” He examines the front. It’s a picture of the Eiffel Tower with the wordPariswritten in cursive across the bottom. He flips it over, resting it where our bodies connect as he reads.
Troy, Thanks for the idea to show up at the airport and take the first flight out. It landed me in Paris, and I absolutely love it here. Like I love your girl. Take care of her for me. I’m so happy for you both. MaciThere’s a hand drawn heart in front of her name.
I wonder if he realizes he’s smiling at Maci’s words. “Told you she doesn’t mind.”
“I love that she just hopped on a plane.” His gaze shifts from the postcard to my eyes.
“I’m surprised she did.” I laugh. “I usually have to talk her into going to the bar up the street.”
“Well, good for her. This isn’t weird, right?” He holds up the postcard, but I know that’s not really what he means.
“I have no insecurities about it, if that’s what you mean. It’s totally weird, though. What are the chances of us even meeting?” I shake my head. It’s an absurd thought.
“Someone has to be the one in a million.” He holds his stare.
It’s hard for me not to be uncomfortable when he’s affectionate like this. It’s easier for me to skip straight to the part where neither of us have clothes on, but I want to talk about our relationship. I want to be comfortable with this. I’m tired of being afraid.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.” He gently flings the postcard back on the coffee table the way he does with his drink coasters at work, freeing up both of his hands to touch me again.
“Does it bother you when I flirt with guys at work?”
“Depends.” He pauses, seeming caught off guard by my question. “Is what you do with Todd your definition of flirting?” His chuckle vibrates through him.
“Ha ha. You know it’s not.” God, I’m thankful I never have to see him again. Best part of getting fired. “I was thinking about it when I was cashing out tonight. I usually get a few numbers a night. I guess I didn’t really think about it until today.”
“Do you use the numbers?” He’s not judging me, he’s just asking.
“Once.” His brows scrunch together, preparing to get worked up, until he realizes I’m talking about him. “It would be a lie to say it’s not intentional, though–the flirting I mean.”
He reaches up and brushes a curl away from my face before burying his hand in my hair. “I mean, I get at least a handful of numbers each week. I don’t use them, but I work for them. Well, for the tips that come with them. So, if you doing it is wrong then I guess it’s wrong for me too.”
“It’s always felt like part of the job, like if I’m going to be there, I might as well make the most of it. But then…”
He pulls me into him with his grip on my neck to kiss me softly like he can’t hold back from having his lips on mine as he waits for me to finish my thought. “Then what?”
“Some guy tonight asked if I had a boyfriend.”
His hand untangles from my hair and falls to my hip, his expression untelling. “What did you tell him?”
“Yes.” My gaze drops from his eyes to where our hips connect. I’m uncomfortable with this conversation, but eased slightly because it's Troy.
“Oh yeah?” He’s surprised. “Do you say that often so guys back off?”
