by Sarah Smith
I glance up at the mountain of pansit still sitting in the giant wok on my stove. A sorry attempt to take my mind off the likely mess I’ve made. I’ll probably eat one plate of that, then put the rest in the freezer, where it will sit along with the two dozen lumpia I rolled the moment I arrived home from work. My mom would be so annoyed. The only time I cook her recipes is when I’m trying to distract myself from self-inflicted humiliation.
Jolting up from the couch, I throw on my sneakers. Walking off this restlessness is the only way I can think to deal.
When I open my front door, I get another jolt. Tate is halfway up my driveway.
His face blank, he holds three yellow, lemon-sized fruits. “Lilikoi delivery.”
“Yay.” I smile, swallowing back all the nerves wreaking havoc on my system.
He follows me to the kitchen and sets the fruit on the counter. Normally, I’d squeal at the sight of my favorite brooding pale hunk delivering more delicious tropical fruit, but all I can do is stand across from him and bite my tongue to keep from babbling like a nervous nitwit.
He peers at the pansit. “Yum.”
“Are you hungry?” When he shakes his head no, I grab a handful of plastic containers and pack up the mound of fried noodles with pork and veggies.
“I already ate dinner, though I’m regretting it now. Pansit is my favorite.”
“You’ll be taking most of that home with you.”
He pumps a fist in the air. “My college roommate would always get on my case about how I would eat half of the pansit his mom cooked whenever she visited.”
“My sister and I used to have pansit-eating contests when we were little.”
His mouth quirks up. “Really? Who won?”
“It was about fifty-fifty.” The casual chitchat eases me slightly. I wonder if suggesting a pansit-eating contest right now would help him forget my faux pas from last night.
“We should chat, don’t you think?”
His words send me into a low-key tizzy. I guess not. Here it comes. The talk I’ve been dreading.
I turn back to him. Keeping my breathing even seems to help. The hay bale of nerves simmering in my gut is now fist sized. “About last night, I didn’t mean to—”
Before I can finish, he closes the gap between us in a single wide step. With both hands around my waist, he hauls me up onto the counter. Our faces are barely an inch apart. I can taste the heat of his breath, and I could swear I hear his heart beating. Or maybe that pounding in my ears is the sound of my own heart. When his lips crash against mine, it’s heated, wet, desperate, and everything good.
He leans away, then pulls a folded-up piece of paper from his pocket. “I was afraid you threw your copy away yesterday, so I got another one today. We can fill it out together.” The smile he flashes me is practically a smirk. “But first I want to take my girlfriend upstairs to her bedroom, if she’s up for it.”
The wide grin that splits my face is equal parts ecstatic and relieved. Tate Rasmussen is a commitment-obsessed freak, too, and I couldn’t be happier.
“So no more taking it slow, then?” I tease.
“I’m done with taking it slow.” He skims his palm over my stomach so that he’s barely touching the fabric of my top. “If you feel up for it. I know tomorrow is technically the day that marks four weeks since your surgery. If you want to wait, just to be sure, I completely understand . . .”
Nearly four weeks since surgery. Five weeks since our first kiss in his car. A month and a half since we started working one-on-one. It’s all more than enough time.
I cup my hand over his. “I don’t want to wait. I feel perfect. And I want you right now.”
I hop off the counter and lead him by the arm up the stairs to my bedroom. My fingers dig into dense flesh. It’s like his cotton T-shirt isn’t even there. When I spin around after closing the door, he’s sitting at the foot of my bed. He scoots up and nods his head for me to follow his lead before lying down. I do the same. With his head propped up on his right hand, he gazes down at me.
He places his hand gently on my stomach. Like a Pavlovian dog, my body is at his beck and call. I’m back to swallowing desperate pants, doing my damnedest to stabilize my ragged breathing. I’ve reached the point where a simple touch from him leaves me hot and aching.
His face is stern with a hint of aroused urgency. A flush fills his cheeks, and his eyes are hazy. I recognize that look. Every man I’ve ever been with has attempted that take-control attitude, but none has done it while looking as delicious as Tate.
Off his T-shirt goes, falling to the floor. I’m sure I have the cheesiest grin on my face, but I can’t help it. He’s cut like a brick wall. Hard, bulging muscle peeks through milky skin. There are lines everywhere. I want to bite, suck, and lick everything. My hands drag across his flawless torso; I can’t help but inhale sharply.
“Holy hell. Look at you,” I whisper in undisguised awe. Tufts of blond hair cover the center of his chest, then curve into a line that trails underneath his pants.
“I’d rather look at you.”
The process of him peeling my clothes off is an arduous one. He starts with my tattered tank top. I lean up, and he slips it gently over my head. I do my best not to tremble, but I can’t help it. It seems every time Tate makes contact with my body, there are fireworks, no matter how insignificant the touch. I’m still in awe that he is the one to make me feel this way. Everything about this moment is surreal.
“I feel silly,” I say.
“Why?” He presses his lips to my stomach. I let out a high-pitched moan. It’s nowhere near as dramatic as the noises I made last night on his couch, but it still echoes against the walls.
“I was so worried that you’d freak out when you saw I had that form, but you were fine with it.”
“More than fine.” He’s talking to my stomach now. His lips refuse to leave my midsection, and I couldn’t be more ecstatic. I hope they make their way to where they left off last night.
His head pops up. “Dating you has been a dream. I’ve been wanting to make us work official for a while. I didn’t want to rush it though because I thought you wouldn’t be into it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he says in a slow hiss.
“Oh, go on.” My attempt to sound in control of my speech fails because I’m all hot sighs and moans. I’m also shameless. I want to hear more.
“The chemistry between us has been off the charts. All those months of bickering has led to some pretty hot times so far, don’t you think?” He begins a trail of kisses from my clavicle to my belly button, then slides a hand across my stomach.
“Yes. I want more though,” I whimper. I’m practically salivating.
He scoots his face to my right hip bone.
One deep breath later and I sound halfway normal again. “So what’s it like being in a work-official relationship with Tate Rasmussen?”
“Lots of foreplay, for starters.”
I blink, and my mind flashes back to a visual of last night, his mess of blond curls peeking from between my legs. I run my hands through the soft ringlets. “I can live with that.”
“Dates at the rock climbing gym.”
I slap his arm playfully. “No chance.”
“Damn. Tough crowd.”
His face is mere inches from the achy epicenter of my body. I wonder if he can hear it throbbing. I can.
“What else?”
“Late nights spent mostly in bed. Sleeping in the mornings after. More fooling around on my couch. Shower shenanigans. Making out in the stairwell at work. Flower deliveries on birthdays and anniversaries. Naked Skype sessions when one of us is out of town. Romantic weekend surprises.”
“Holy hell.”
I run my finger lightly along his sculpted jawline, buzzing at the thought of doing every single one
of those with Tate. A shudder runs through him. This is all a preview of what’s to come for sure, but already I feel like I know. We’re weeks into being together, but it’s the happiest, the most content I’ve ever felt with anyone.
“Where do I sign?”
“Here,” he says.
He switches course and covers my mouth with his. For an untold number of minutes, his hands roam wild as he kisses me. He alternates between squeezing my breasts, tracing my nipples through my sports bra, and lightly skimming my stomach. He takes extra care not to touch the lower part of my torso, just like last night. I smile against his lips, impressed at his mindful technique.
He pulls away for a moment. “Nothing hurts, does it?”
“Nope.” Not even soreness registers. Arousal is a powerful drug.
He licks his lips, then thumbs my bottom lip when I smile at him. His right hand is tangled between my hair and my scalp. He scrunches it into a fist, and I moan. I tug at the waistband of his gym shorts, desperate for what’s underneath. The shrill ring of his phone in his pocket interrupts our flow.
“Ignore it,” I say midkiss. He nods.
The beeping and vibrating continues.
“Hang on.” He pulls out his phone, resting his head against the headboard while he glances down at it. He shuts his eyes, his chest puffing up and down. “Crap, it’s my sister. She never calls me this late. I have to take this.”
I stand up to leave the room so he can talk in private, but he gestures me back. I sit down on the bed. We’re an awkward sight for sure. He’s perched at the head; I’m at the foot. My hair is a tousled mess, and I’m down to my sports bra and shorts. He’s still shirtless.
“Eli’s still out of town? No, it’s fine. I’ll be there. Give me fifteen minutes, okay? Hang tight.”
He hangs up, and I force a smile. I’d rather cry in frustration at how our night is ending, but I want to maintain some degree of civility.
“My sister is stuck on the freeway with a flat tire and needs me to help her put on the spare. I guess her boyfriend’s work trip ran long; otherwise, she’d be calling him.”
Now I feel like a baby for being upset. “Do you need me to help? I can add it to the list of girlfriend duties.”
He shakes his head and laughs. “It’s okay. It’s dark now, so it wouldn’t be safe to have a bunch of people standing at the side of the freeway.”
I pull down the strap of my sports bra, giving him a view of more flesh. “You sure I can’t convince you to stay for a bit longer?”
He surveys my body with hungry eyes, then ends with a pained smile, like he’s seriously reconsidering.
“I’m joking. You will not leave your sister stranded on the side of the freeway for sex. That’s unforgivable.”
“I can always beg for forgiveness.”
I throw my head back in amused exasperation. “No way in hell. Go help your sister.”
He throws on his shirt, I throw on mine, and we hustle downstairs. “You have no idea how sorry I am to have to leave like this. Believe me, I don’t want to,” he says.
“Oh, I know. The front of your pants is proof of that.”
He glances down and blushes, then adjusts his shorts. I press up against him, pushing a kiss to his lips.
“Starting tomorrow, we’ll have all the time in the world,” I say. “I can wait one more night.”
He pulls on his sneakers with a grin that makes me suddenly question if I have the willpower to wait.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “We’ll spend a couple hours at the reunion, then we’ll leave and pick up where we left off.”
Just when I think he’s headed for the door, he lunges back and pulls me to his mouth. We’re a tangle of tongues, saliva, and growls.
“We’ll fill out that form too. We can hand it in on Monday.”
“I love it when you talk dirty,” I say against his lips. “Go.”
I finally pull him off my mouth by his hair. It’s a battle against every natural urge to drag him back to my couch and finish what we started. His hands are glued to my hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He finally releases me.
I fetch him two giant containers of pansit. “Give one to Cal when you see him on Monday.”
He frowns. “How did you know?”
“I saw you bring him lunch a while back. And then Cal spotted me and told me everything. That’s sweet of you, Tate.”
His eyes fall to the ground, and he shrugs. “Just trying to be decent.”
“You’re more than decent. You’re amazing.”
His smile is all I see before he heads out the door. I make my way back to the kitchen counter, gazing down at the creased relationship disclosure form. I fill in my information, leaving his blank, then tuck it into my purse so I can give it to him tomorrow after the reunion. I imagine the shocked smile on his face when he sees I’ve filled out my part already. My first romantic weekend surprise for Tate.
twenty-three
I stare at my open closet, clueless about what to wear. Do I even own an outfit that is appropriate for a high school reunion, yet still says, Hey there, Boyfriend. Fill out this paperwork, then screw me senseless?
I call Kaitlin for advice. It’s about time I fill her in anyway.
“Hey you. Long time no talk. Need me to play nurse to you some more?”
“I’m fine actually. Look, I need to tell you something. Stuff happened. I have a boyfriend.” I let out a loaded exhale. “It’s Tate.”
A long pause indicates Kaitlin is slowly processing my info dump. “What the . . .” There’s a muffled sound, then a pause. “Okay, spill.”
I give Kaitlin a quick rundown of recent events complete with gushing. “I sound like a smitten schoolgirl, don’t I?”
“A little.” There’s amusement in her tone. “So this guy does it for you, then? Like, downstairs?”
I’m full-body blushing. Kaitlin is the only person other than Addy who knows about my past sexual relationships. “Hell to the yes.”
“Now that’s a guy worth being smitten over.”
“He’s worth his weight in gold when it comes to that stuff.”
“Seriously?” She interrogates me about his bedroom skills, but I clarify that we’ve only messed around and that so far it’s been focused on my pleasure.
“Well, holy hot damn.” There’s a long pause, then a breathy laugh. “So he kisses like a demon, you’ve had phone sex with him, he’s gone down on you, and he puts your pleasure before his?”
“Uh-huh. But even when we’re just together and not doing anything sexual, he gives me feelings I’ve never, ever felt with anyone before. Every single time. I’m comfortable around him, but the excitement is always there too. It’s an intimacy I’ve never had with anyone before.”
She whistles. “You lucky wench.”
“No guy I’ve been with has even come close to making me feel the way he does, Kaitlin. Not the overly confident ones, not the sensible guys, not the ultranice guys too shy to take control. But Tate . . . Something about him . . . I really, really like him.”
“I can tell.” She giggles. “You two have history and tension, and that can build some serious chemistry.”
I explain his introversion and the breakup that set off his tendency to hold back in relationships.
“Ah yes,” Kaitlin says. “The brooding, private type who doesn’t open up to just anyone, and you’re the lucky woman he wants to let inside.”
“I’ve never had chemistry with someone so closed off before. The way he opens up to me is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”
“Emmie, honey, I love you, but you’re just like him.”
I fall against the doorframe of my closet. “Excuse me?”
“Look, I know you joke about how you are this completely different person at work, and in a lot of wa
ys you are. But honestly? That hard exterior you put up during the workweek? That’s a form of being closed off.”
“What do you mean?”
“I say this with love. I’ve been your best friend since high school. You’ve always put up a hardened front to keep from getting hurt, to keep from showing weakness. You did it during school, in college. You’re real and loyal to the people close to you, but everyone else has to earn their way in. When someone’s shown themselves to be worthy, that’s when you let your guard down. Then you’re sweet and kind.”
I almost choke on my next breath. She’s right.
“And for the record, you say it’s all pretend, but it’s not. I know you. The real you is a sweetheart, but you’re a fighter too. You have been since you were a little kid. For some reason you think you can’t be hard and soft at the same time. You absolutely can. You’ve done it your whole life; you do it every day. That’s you in a nutshell.”
In the seconds that I take to process everything, I realize Kaitlin is spot on. I don’t know why I never thought of myself as capable or strong before. Tate even pointed it out during our make-out session in his car, but it didn’t hit me the way Kaitlin’s words do right now.
“You act like you’re this tough faker when you’re just being you.”
I swallow, stunned. “Thank you for the impromptu analysis, Dr. Kaitlin.”
“Addy says the same thing. Don’t be so shocked that you connect with a guy who harbors the same personality quirks as you. Also, he’s fucking hot. That helps.”
In the background, I hear Ethan scolding her gently.
“Oh, honey, she didn’t hear me. She’s playing with her blocks, look!”
Slowly, I ease out of the shock. “Leave it to my best friend and little sister to know me better than I do.”
“And now leave it to me to help you get dressed.”
I shove a row of clothes to one side of the closet. The hangers drag loudly across the wooden rod. “Black is good, right? It’s classic. Simple. Nondescript.”