by Stacey Lynn
We’ll get past it. “Our first of many.”
“Deal.”
“Grab a seat at your favorite table,” I lean in and give her a quick kiss. Now that I can touch her I’m not sure I’ll be able to stop. I definitely know I never want to. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She takes a couple steps, draping her coat over the barstool, and at the last second, she snags the Star Wars book. “I can’t believe it was you the whole time.”
“Yes, you can, if you think about it.” She’ll put it together. The pieces. The picture. How I kept things superficial and yet still knew so much. I dropped little clues in every conversation. The way I stood her up but didn’t.
She’s grinning at me, bemused, when her expression flattens and sadness trickles in. “You’re right. I think maybe I did. Or maybe hoped?”
I squeeze her hand. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here.”
She nods and I let her go, pressing my hand to her back to get her moving toward the table with the high-back couches that will further cocoon us in our own private oasis.
She heads that direction, and I move to the kitchen, thankful as hell for Tucker and Paul. They worked their asses off today once I told them I was closing. They still clocked out at their normal hours and kept helping with the damn lights and flowers. At some point, Tucker messaged Sara to let her know what was going on, and she showed up and took over with the flowers and finishing touches. Thank goodness. I shudder to think what the restaurant would look like without a woman’s touch to make sure the details were perfect.
And yet, as thrilled as Caitlin is about all of it, I’m not sure she cares too much. Had I shown up in jeans and my regular polo shirt, I still think her response would have been the same, because while Caitlin might have come from money, she’s never let it define her.
I grab the platters Paul had completed and left under the warmers a few minutes before Caitlin arrived, and set them on a tray. I take it to the bar, grab a beer for me, and mix up an extra-dry martini for Caitlin.
Her eyes are on me the entire time, and mine are barely able to drag away from her.
She’s here. And not only is she not pissed. She loves me, too. All of this, even the pain of losing her the first time, has been totally worth it to hear those words fall from her lips. I’d go through it all over again, knowing how much it would hurt, to have her back in my life, exactly how I’ve wanted her for years.
* * *
—
I’m sitting next to her in the curved booth. The table is too much space between us. In between bites of our food, my hand falls to her knee. Our conversation has been stilted, with so many things to say, and I can’t figure out how to move us past this awkward beginning I wasn’t expecting.
But what was I thinking? That we’d profess our love and everything would be smooth sailing?
Hardly.
Caitlin is playing with her food more than she’s eating it, and as she chews, she glances at me nervously.
I can’t bear this anymore. We’ve always been able to talk. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?”
She laughs, that soft, lyrical laugh I’ve been missing. She twirls her fork in her noodles and then drops it. “I was thinking about last week when you walked me home.”
She pauses, and her gaze doesn’t meet mine. My hand on her thigh tenses. “What about it? Are you bothered I didn’t stay? You know why I couldn’t.”
“No, it’s that the next morning when Trey was there instead of you, I cried after he left. I wanted it so badly to be you that stayed.” She turns to me, and there’s pain in her eyes, a vulnerability that makes my heart ache for her. “I’m so sorry it took me so long to realize how much I care about you.” Tears fall from her eyes, and I wipe them away before she can reach them. “I keep thinking about how much we’ve missed. What we could have been or done.”
“Hey…hey.” I cup her cheeks with my palm and lean in, brushing my lips over hers. “I think it’s worked out the way it was always supposed to.”
“I have regrets, that it took me so long to realize you’ve always been it for me.”
“Caitlin—”
“Also,” she says, cutting me off. Her sadness disappears, and a glimmer of mischief lights her eyes. “I do have another question for you. Something I’ve been wondering about since you messaged me and now I can finally ask you.”
“What’s that?” This could be anything, and my interest is definitely piqued.
She turns her face and kisses my palm on her cheek. Her hand comes up and wraps around my hand on hers and she squeezes. With a wink, she asks, “So you really watched The Vampire Diaries? I thought you didn’t like it?”
She’s a nut. This is what we need, and I laugh, shaking my head at her silliness. Leaning back, I take a drink from my beer and grin. “I’m still on season four. But I so really wish Damon would turn back into a crow.”
She chews on a bite of food and swallows. “And fly away because he’s horrible for Elena?”
“No, because it was fucking cool.”
Twirling her fork in the air, pointed at me, she says, “You’re such a guy.”
“Thank God.”
* * *
—
We’ve finished dinner, and I made us another round of drinks. Caitlin insisted on helping clean up the table when we were done, and we’re now at the bar, having our drink. We’re sitting on barstools, having spent the last hour talking about everything and nothing. And it occurs to me how much distance she really did put between us before, because when we were just screwing around, families were never brought up. She’s asked about mine, for the first time ever, and I’ve gotten to tell her about Alexandra, my younger sister who still lives in Connecticut. Now that the veil has been dropped, it’s like she can finally ask me all the questions she might have been curious about before, but never asked.
What we haven’t done is spend much time talking about her family, but since I already know I hate them, I haven’t brought it up yet, but with her so relaxed, now’s the perfect time.
Her finger and thumb trail up and down the stem of the martini glass slowly. Picking up a rose petal, she tosses it toward me.
“This is really special, what you did tonight. I still can’t get over it.”
“I think that maybe you haven’t had a lot of people in your life treat you like you deserve something like this, but I assure you, you do.”
“You say the sweetest things.”
“Because you deserve to hear them, too.”
She sighs and takes a drink. “It sounds like you had such a normal childhood, and I know some of it might have been boring or whatever, but compared to mine, it sounds like yours was absolutely perfect.”
“It was. I guess no matter how you grow up, though, as kids you spend time wishing for things you didn’t have. I think that’s pretty normal. I bet a lot of people wished they could have grown up like you.”
She huffs a laugh, but it’s so sad it makes my chest hurt. “My parents weren’t around much. I was raised by nannies and housekeepers. Sometimes a live-in chef, too. It was lonely growing up, and when I was in high school and old enough to take care of myself, the housekeepers and nannies were fired, and I was left alone a lot.”
“Your parents?”
“Too busy being successful and making money to care I was around. I don’t know really, I never thought to ask why they had me and then ignored me.”
“I’m sorry, honey. I really am. About everything that happened in college and then with them afterward.”
She finishes the rest of her drink in one large swallow, making a face as the alcohol burns down her throat. “Yeah, well, I learned a long time ago that I’m better off without them.”
It still must be hard for her. As frustrating as my mom can be, it’s better than having no parents whatsoever. I take her empty glass from her, sliding it to the back edge of the bar, and hold her hand. It’s time we move past this sadness and get to a mor
e enjoyable part of the evening.
Squeezing her hand, I get her attention and say, “So, I didn’t do all of this tonight for what I’m about to ask next—”
“Yes.”
My smile is so big it hurts my cheeks. “You didn’t even let me ask.”
It’s like the last few minutes of talking about her parents never happened because her cheeks are flushed with excitement and, if I’m not mistaken, something more akin to desire. “It better be you asking me to come with you. Or spending the night with me.”
“My place.” We’ve spent so much more time at hers over the years because it’s closer, but tonight, this night, I need her at mine.
I lean in closer until I’m a hair’s width away from her. Brushing my lips over hers, I pull back so she can see the depth of my love for her. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, Jonas. I know that. It just took me a long time to figure that’s what I’ve felt for you, too.”
Hearing her say it will never get old. “Good. Let me close everything down and lock up and we’ll get out of here.”
Chapter 23
Caitlin
I think I’m still processing everything that’s happened over the last few hours. Jonas is Michael. Jonas joined the app to get my attention.
I’m in love with Jonas Reeves, and every time the thought flutters to my mind, dances on the tip of my tongue, it becomes less scary.
We’re sitting in the back of the Uber he ordered, his hand is in mine, and Portland’s tall downtown buildings are slowly passing me by. It’s quiet out, even for a Tuesday seeing as it’s only ten o’clock, and yet deep inside me, an excitement is building.
It’s the strangest sensation dancing in my veins, anticipation and something that feels an awful lot like hope thrums beneath my skin, making me antsy and impatient.
It’s been so long since I’ve been to Jonas’s apartment. It was always easier for him to walk the couple of blocks to my place than it was for me to trek halfway across the city to get to his, and yet I’ve still been here so frequently I know it like the back of my hand.
The driver slows to a quiet street and stops in front of a large brick building. Jonas’s apartment building is old, built back when floor-to-ceiling windows didn’t yet exist, and I know beneath the window in his living area and bedroom are old cast iron radiators that are still used to heat the apartments. More than once he’s banged them with a heavy pot to get the air flowing. The first time I saw him do it, I was wrapped in the sheet from his bed that had ended up tangled and piled on the floor. I’d laughed as he grabbed the large pot sitting on his bedroom floor, telling him that only works in movies.
Sure enough, a few seconds later, warm air seeped into the room, and Jonas had grinned at me, asking, “What were you saying?”
We ended up not needing the heater that afternoon because he crawled into bed with me, pulled the comforter over both of us, and heated my body in a way that only skin-to-skin contact can.
I shiver at the memory, and Jonas’s hand squeezes mine. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod and open the door. “Just remembering one of the first times I was here.”
I grin at him, unable to stop smiling so much. Everything is shifting so quickly between us and yet it feels so perfect. All my fear from earlier with Teagan is completely gone. Perhaps the champagne she handed me was laced with marijuana.
I shake my head and scrub my hands together, waiting for Jonas to meet me at the curb.
“You ready?” he asks, smiling down at me and holding out his hand. I take it, slide my fingers in between his, lacing our hands together, and nod once.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
He leads me to the building, quickly punching in his code, and as soon as we’re enclosed in the entryway, heat blasting us from every direction, my back is against the wall and his lips slam down against mine. We’re in view of the street, visible to anyone who drives by or who needs to leave or enter the building, and yet it’s the last thought in my mind as my hands grip his coat and I pull him harshly against me.
Our tongues slide against each other, my hands go to the back of his head. He’s bent over me, one hand on my lower back, and then he crouches, tugs, and lifts.
“Hey!” My legs wrap around his waist, and I cling to his shoulders, gripping the back of his neck as he lifts me with surprising speed.
“I can’t wait,” he groans into my neck. “I’ve wanted this for so damn long.”
I’ve never been so glad I’m so small and he’s so strong in my life. He carries me up the stairs to the second floor, his mouth staying on my neck, my jaw, anywhere he can kiss and touch and taste while being able to watch where he’s going. My head burrows into the crook of his neck even as my hips roll at the sensations spiking through me.
God. He’s so good at all of this. Like passion and love and emotions come so naturally to him when for me they’re always such a struggle.
When we reach his door, he sets me down on my feet, keeping his hand at my lower back. I slide down slowly, feeling his hardness, even through his coat, press against my stomach.
Yes. It’s been so long, I’m already hot, my core aching for him.
He fumbles with the key, and I press my fingers to my lips, smothering a giggle.
“What?” he says. His brown eyes are glassy, showing his fervent need to get inside.
I press my hand to his cheek. “I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who’s anxious.”
“I’m not anxious.” He turns the key. The door clicks and he pushes it open.
“You’re not?” I step closer to him, sliding my hand to his chest until my body is plastered against his.
“No. I’ve been fucking wanting this to happen for seven months, and now that I finally have you back and you’re soon going to be in my bed, I’m warning you now, I might never let you leave.”
“Hmm.” I tap my finger to my lips. “Like, you might handcuff and keep me tied to your bed as your own personal sex slave?”
“Now, there’s an idea. Get inside.”
I hurry in, almost skipping on my heels, and once I’m there, the door closes behind me and Jonas is at my back. His arms reach around to my front. He unbuttons my coat, peels it from my body like we suddenly have all the time in the world.
I suppose we do. But try telling that to my racing heart and my throbbing center. All this pent-up desire I’ve had for him for so long is in danger of exploding before we make it to his bedroom.
“Jonas,” I whisper his name as his lips press against the side of my throat. He’s always joked it’s my “on” button. One tiny kiss placed right where he’s nibbling, and I’m turned on. It’s the smallest thing, and it’s all it’s ever taken with him.
I spin in his arms and press my mouth to his, hands clinging to his waist and tugging at his shirt. He needed me outside. I need him now. He groans into my mouth, pushing me back until my back is against the door. Sliding his tongue inside, I’m already open, clinging to him and shoving his suit coat off his shoulders, my hands frantically working at his belt.
“Shit,” he whispers, pulling back. His chest heaves with every harsh breath he takes. My own is pounding just as rapidly and I can feel the rhythms of our beats even through our clothes. “I meant to take my time.”
My mouth is at his throat. Sliding across his heated flesh, my fingers finally undo his belt and the button of his pants. “Later. We can do that later.”
He curses again as I wrap my leg around his waist, my hot center against his hard bulge, and then his hand is at my thigh, sliding beneath my dress Thank the fashion gods for dresses and for pantyhose no longer being in style because his hand hits my skin, hot against cool flesh. Spikes of anticipated pleasure zing to my core, making me throb, needing him so damn badly.
“Slow later sounds like a good idea,” Jonas concedes before his mouth slams down against mine. His hand tangles in my hair, forcing my chin up, my b
ack to arch, and I grind against him, already so close I can feel my first climax heating and spreading like a teenager making out on a parent’s couch. His hand goes between us, zipper lowered. Pants and boxers shoved to his ankles, and as he steps out of them, kicking them to who knows where and who cares where, I finally look down and see him in all his glory.
He’s so damn perfect. I unbutton his shirt, needing to see him, and his hands are at the hem of my dress, lifting it while I shove off his shirt, and then I lose sight of him as he rips off my dress. It joins a pile of clothes on the floor. I kick off my lace thong to add to the mix and then it’s us. Naked.
Panting.
And God, I’ve waited so long for him, I reach out and wrap my hand around his length. Hot velvet over hardness. He pushes into my grip, moaning as he presses his mouth to mine, pulling back and gasping, “Give me a sec. I need a condom.”
My grip on him tightens. I lick my lips, sealing in the taste of him. Now that I have him, I want to have all of him. Give myself to him in a way I never have before. “I’m on the pill.”
He flinches, closes his eyes, and presses his forehead to mine. “We’ll wait for that.”
Right. Because while there’s been no one since him, he’s had at least Ashley, and while I love that he wants to keep me safe and protected, the reality is a douse of cold water. I swallow harshly, unable to help the emotion that brings.
“Of course,” I whisper, although it sounds strangled, and because he’s Jonas, he notices.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is just as tortured.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Except for me, because I’m currently sorry for so many things, and yet as he kisses me again, I know I have to get over this hurdle, too.
His hand presses my stomach until I’m plastered against the wall, and he pulls back from our kiss, a glint of deliciously wicked intent in his eyes. “Stay there.”
“Where else would I go?”
He bends down, digs through the pile of mess, finds a condom, and by the time he’s back to me, he’s sheathed himself, pumping his perfect length in his strong hand, and then he grabs my hips, lifts me so I have to wrap my legs around his waist.