I won't accept anything less than Blake being madly in love with me.
I study every nook and cranny of the room. The plush leather couch. The wide TV. The big, clear windows that lead to the balcony.
The cherry bookshelf in the corner. It's packed with rows and rows of science fiction novels. I haven't read any of them, but I do recognize a few names.
The shelf on the bottom is different. It's packed with graphic novels straight off a best-of list: Blankets, Fun Home, Smile, Blue is the Warmest Color.
As Lizzy would say, boring girl stuff.
Exactly what I like to read.
"Those are for you." His voice flows into my ears.
I turn to face him. He's standing in the kitchen, pouring whiskey into a glass of ice.
I nod. "Thank you." My heart speeds up. They're books, not a declaration of love. But they're a lot.
He understands me.
He knows what I want.
He wants to make me happy.
Maybe he is capable of loving me.
Suddenly, my black dress feels awkward.
I'm not mourning this relationship. Not tonight. Not tomorrow.
This is our last chance. That means it's my last chance too. These might be my last twenty-four hours with Blake. I'm going to enjoy them.
"Excuse me." I go to the sex room—I'm sure Blake calls it his spare room, but let's get real—and change into a tank top, pajama bottoms, and a hoodie.
I'm tempted to linger here. It's familiar. Hell, this is certainly the room where I have the most positive memories.
I let my eyelids press together. I linger in memories of his body joining mine, his lips on my skin, his growl vibrating down my neck. The Blake I understand. Who understands me. Who gives me exactly what I need.
But then I understand this Blake.
And he understands me.
And we do want to make each other happy.
I swallow the thought as I move into the main room.
Blake is in his pajamas. It's still strange, seeing him casual and relaxed. Blake in a t-shirt and plaid pants is absurd. Even if he still looks like a sex god.
He nods to the coffee table. There's a plate of berries and dark chocolate. And two glasses. One amber. One clear.
"Gin and chocolate?" I move onto the couch.
He sits next to me. His fingers brush my cheek. My chin. "Would you prefer whiskey?"
I shake my head.
He grabs my drink and hands it over. It's just like the first time. The brush of his fingers lights me up.
I move closer, until the outsides of our thighs are pressed against each other.
His fingers trail over my back, pressing the soft cotton of my hoodie against my skin. He nestles his head into the crook of my neck. Slides his arms around my waist.
Fuck. My stomach flutters. My muscles go weak. This is exactly where I belong. In his arms. In his apartment. In his life.
But not if it's his life. Only if it's ours.
Blake's breath warms my ear. "Thank you."
"For?" I press my knees together. It does nothing to stem the electricity racing through me. I want his body, yes, but as more than a fuck. As everything.
"For being here."
"Of course." I want to be here. There isn't a single part of me that wants to be somewhere else.
I down half my gin and tonic in one gulp. Fresh with that hint of pine.
"Kat."
I grab a raspberry and plop it in my mouth. It's sweet, tart perfection.
"Are you alright?"
"Yeah."
He turns to me and runs his fingertips over my chin, tilting me so we're eye to eye. "Are you sure?"
No. Not at all. But I am sure I want to be here. "Let's watch a movie."
He stares back at me. His eyes fill with honest affection. "Anything you want."
"It's a little silly," I say.
"Same thing you said about your favorite book." He brushes the hair from my eyes. "Why are you embarrassed by the things you love?"
"I'm not embarrassed by them." I play with the zipper of my hoodie. "It's more that it's personal." My cheeks flush. This is really personal. But I want him to know. I want him to know all of me. "The Matrix."
He laughs. "You do realize who you're talking to?"
"Yes, I do realize you own a technology company, and you think you're a nerd. But that isn't what's personal. I don't really care about the movie that much." I finish the last half of my drink. "It was the thing Lizzy and I watched when she got out of the hospital. We must have watched the whole trilogy twenty times. She loves those fucking movies. Any movie where robots try to enslave humanity, she's all over it. Battlestar Galactica is her favorite show by quite a measure."
"What about you?" he asks.
"I root for the robots." I set my glass on the table. Fine. I'll answer the question he was really asking. "It's not my favorite movie, but it's the most comforting thing I can watch. It feels like… like love."
He runs his hand through my hair and rests it on the back of my neck. With the other, he tilts my chin so we're face to face.
His voice is soft. Sweet. "The Matrix is my favorite movie."
"Yeah?"
He nods.
I swallow hard.
I've seen The Matrix twenty times. More. It seems like it's a movie about rebels fighting a manufactured dream world.
But it's not.
It's about love.
Love is the thing that saves the day.
Love is the thing that saves the world.
Love is the thing that matters.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
I fall asleep on the couch and wake up in Blake's bed.
He's behind me, his arm resting on the curve of my waist.
It's so different than last time I was with him. When I woke up alone, I felt cold and empty.
Right now, I'm warm. The whole fucking world is warm.
My eyes flutter closed. One more minute to feel his arms around me.
I do my best to slide off the bed without waking Blake. He looks peaceful with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly.
I creep to the bathroom and brush my teeth. There's a sound in the bedroom. Then footsteps. He knocks softly.
I mumble a come in.
He does. His hair is actually messy. And he actually looks tired.
My lips curl into a smile.
His eyes fix on me. "What's that for?"
I spit out a mouthful of toothpaste. "For you."
"I make you happy?"
"Sometimes."
"I want to make you happy."
I turn to the sink and rinse my mouth. I don't know what to do with his words.
He moves closer. Waits until I'm standing then wraps his arms around me.
I bury my head in his chest. He runs a hand through my hair.
It's warm.
Comfortable.
"Relax. I'll make breakfast," he says.
"You make things?"
"I do."
"You? Not your assistant or a cook or a maid?"
He chuckles. "You're verging on insulting."
"You get insulted?"
"Only by people I care about." He reaches for his toothbrush. "I make an amazing breakfast. You'll eat those words."
"Or will I be too busy eating the delicious food?"
He laughs. "That's a terrible joke."
"That's why it suits you." I take a step backwards. "No offense."
"It's good to know your strengths and weaknesses." He turns back to the sink.
I slink to the main room, grab my sketchbook, and plop on the couch. I need to capture all the thoughts racing around my head. First, the funeral. Six panels. Starting with a closed casket. It's a little obvious, but it's necessary.
Then Blake, sitting in a cheap chair in his expensive suit, his eyes on the floor, his expression miserable.
And me, behind him, considering coming up to him.
A poin
t-of-view shot of him standing.
Him at the podium.
The words She was everything.
"I like you lost in thought." Blake leans in to plant a kiss on my lips.
He tastes like mint toothpaste.
"Aren't you used to it?" I ask.
"I still like it." He takes a step towards the kitchen. "You want coffee?"
"Yes please."
He moves into the kitchen. I turn back to my drawing.
Slowly, the smell of java fills the room. That French roast with vanilla. The one he was drinking after the pool. I can't even smell vanilla without thinking about it.
I try putting last night into a panel, but I don't know where to start. At the diner? The drive here? My body pressed against his on the couch?
How can I put all my feelings about him into four or ten or even a hundred panels?
The smell of red peppers and olive oil fills the room.
I give up on work and move into the kitchen.
Blake pushes vegetables around a pan. He cracks eggs in a clean plastic bowl, whisks them, pours them in the pan.
He is a good cook.
At least if the smell of that omelet is any indication.
He turns back to me. Runs his fingers through my hair. Looks down at me like I'm the secret to all the happiness in the world. "Cream and sugar?"
"Please." I rise to my tiptoes to kiss him. This is so normal. So domestic. So sweet.
It's perfect.
He fills two mugs and adds just enough cream and sugar to one.
I steal the coffee from him and take a long sip.
It's perfect.
And it makes me think of him. Of vanilla on his lips. I get lost in my mug. And my thoughts. It's been less than two months, but it feels like it's been forever. Was it really me who ran into Blake? It feels like she was another person entirely.
"Here." Blake sets a plate in front of me. An omelet, avocado, two dozen raspberries.
"Thank you." I take a seat at the counter. This smells like heaven, but I force myself to dig in slowly.
Mmm. Fluffy eggs. And they're fresh. I didn't even know eggs could taste fresh.
The peppers are crunchy. The tomatoes are sweet.
"I admit it. You're a good cook." I shovel another bite of omelet into my mouth.
Blake sits next to me. He takes a patient bite.
His eyes pass over me.
I try to slow down.
"You don't have to do that." He sips his coffee. "I like you messy."
I wipe my mouth with a napkin. "That's hard to believe." I motion to the perfectly clean apartment.
"Who says I want it that way?"
"Twenty bucks. It says you spend plenty to keep it this clean."
He chuckles. "True. But it's too clean. I've had too much of clean." He stares back into my eyes. "I've had too much of uncomplicated."
I swallow hard. "Oh?"
"You remember what I said that first night at my office?"
"That was a long time ago."
He brushes his thumb against my chin, wiping off a drop of coffee. "When you're with me, you won't want for anything."
Heat spreads through my body. I force myself to turn back to my breakfast. "I haven't." Mostly. There is one thing he can't give me, but Blake was always clear about love being out of the question.
I finish my eggs and coffee then get to work on the raspberries.
Blake watches me. He steals a berry off my plate and pops it into his mouth.
Ah, two can play that game.
I steal an orange slice off his plate and tear into it. Juice drips from my lips. Off my chin. Onto my chest.
Blake laughs. He catches the juice on his thumb and brings it to his lips.
He stares into my eyes as he sucks on the digit.
It shouldn't be sexy, but it is.
I slide off the stool and place my body in front of his.
He presses one hand into my lower back. The other slides through my hair.
He kisses me hard. Like he can't get enough.
No. It's not like.
He can't get enough.
I can't either.
I still can't say this with words. They've never been my strong suit.
But this—my body against his—I can say it like this.
I love you.
Be mine.
Be mine forever. For real. For everything.
I tug at his t-shirt. I slide my tongue into his mouth.
It isn't enough.
I need more.
I need everything.
Blake shifts off his stool. He presses his body against mine.
Everything in me relaxes.
This is exactly where we're supposed to be. Domestic bliss and sex and love and everything. In his kitchen. In the apartment that can be ours. In a life that can be ours.
He slides his hands under my ass and lifts me onto the kitchen island.
I wrap my legs around him.
He pulls my tank top off my head.
No teasing today. He brings his hands to my breasts and rubs my nipples with his thumbs.
He's giving me what I need.
I kiss him harder.
Arch my back to rub my crotch against his.
I comb my fingers through his hair, holding his head against mine, letting everything pour from me to him.
When he breaks our kiss, I'm shaking.
I pull his t-shirt over his head. "Now. Please."
He nods as he tugs at my pajama bottoms.
I place my hands behind my back, lifting my hips so he can get them off my ass.
They fell to my knees. My ankles.
I kick them off my feet.
He steps out of his bottoms.
We're naked in the kitchen.
But I don't feel exposed.
I feel seen. Like somehow I'm getting both versions of Blake.
Like maybe we can understand each other this well all the time.
I dig my hands into his hair and pull him into a kiss.
He brings his hands to my hips and guides me into position.
His cock strains against me.
Slowly, he enters me.
Fuck.
Heat floods my body.
But it's more than desire. I'm one with him. With him and not with the sex-crazed animal. This is the Blake with the sad blue eyes and the heart-stopping laugh and the tendency to pull away.
He's mine.
And I'm his.
And it makes sense.
The world makes sense.
He kisses me back.
I rock my hips in time with his. Taking everything he has to give me. Offering everything I have to give him.
Almost…
There.
With his next thrust, I come. My sex pulses around him. I dig my nails into his skin, pulling him closer, making him mine.
He groans back against my mouth.
He pulls me closer as he thrusts into me.
Then he's there, holding me tightly as he pulses inside me.
Mine.
We stay pressed together for a long, long time.
And it really is perfect.
Like I'm exactly where I belong.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I give Blake the day.
We wander around the Met all morning, eat lunch at the cafe, wander around the park all afternoon.
It feels like spring. Bright yellow sun, brisk air, green grass, flowers blooming with pops of color.
The world is awake and alive.
And I am too.
This is what I want. Everything I want.
We walk around the park until the sunset streaks the sky orange.
Blake stops at a bench and pulls me onto his lap. He presses his lips into mine.
It's soft. Sweet. Perfect.
When we break, I try hard to keep my gaze on the sky.
It refuses. His face is a million times more captivating. Those blue eyes of his are gorgeous. And t
hey're filled with every bit of emotion in the world.
He leans closer. One hand pressed between my shoulder blades. The other brushes stray hairs behind my ears.
"Come to Paris with me." His voice is vulnerable. Like my answer has the power to break him. "We can spend the week having sex. We can go to every museum in Europe. I already have my schedule cleared."
"It's convenient?"
His expression stays soft. "That isn't it." He runs his fingertips over my cheek. "I want to be there with you. I want the week with you."
Warmth fills me. It starts in my chest and spreads through my tummy. I take a deep breath. This is so close to everything I want.
But it's not enough.
"And then what?" I ask.
"Then we'll be together." His voice is sweet. Sincere. "I like having you around."
"Is that all—that you like having me around?" I dig my fingers into his shoulders. I force myself to stare back into his eyes.
His fingers skim my cheek. "I care about you, Kat."
The word makes my skin crawl. Care. I swallow hard. "Is that all it is?"
"We'd be happy."
Maybe. But that's not enough.
He runs his hand through my hair. It soothes me and lights me up in equal measures. It's everything.
But it's not enough.
"I'm in love with you, Blake." I make my voice as confident as I can. "I'm madly in love with you, and it drives me crazy. I can't eat or sleep. I can't think about anything else. I can't even draw anything else. I try, but somehow everything goes back to you."
I stare into his eyes, trying to find some reaction. There's only one thing I can see, and it's not love. It's not joy that I'm finally telling him this.
He's afraid.
He's afraid of my feelings.
"Kat."
"I understand you don't believe in love. You don't think you're capable of it. Whatever it is, fine. If that's really how you feel, fine." I squeeze the fabric of his sweater. "But I can't be with you unless you love me. Unless you're madly in love with me."
He goes to touch my cheek but I stop him.
"Don't do that." I stare into his eyes, but it doesn't help me understand what we're doing here. "You don't have to answer now. You can think about it."
"Kat." His voice sinks.
Deep breath. "If you are in love with me, then I will go to Paris with you. I'll go anywhere with you. But it's all or nothing, Blake. I can't be with someone who doesn't love me."
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