In six months, Gwen Johnston turns thirty, and when she does, she vows she'll have her life together. She'll no longer be jumping from one job to another, from one relationship to the next. A new, more mature, Gwen will have emerged. She's giving he...
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When we got back to the cottage, instead of Blake heating my body, he decided to heat some water for tea. Now we're literally sitting at the kitchen table across from each other with hot beverages and cookies between us. It would be almost laughable if it wasn't so bewildering.
For the last two days, he's barely been able to keep his hands off me. Lust hummed between us like a live wire. My bet was placed on him tearing my panties off, not tearing open a package of cookies. I should be the cookie here. Me.
He could have his hands all over my goodies with Izzy and Jeremy gone, but we've been buried by an avalanche of uncertainty. On his part, not mine. I'd totally let him fuck me or I'd fuck him. Whatever way you want to put it, we'd be doing it like bunnies right now if he gave me any sign he wanted it to. He's stiff, but definitely not at all in the way that I want.
Tea and cookies are about as far from sex as we can get. Actually, if he was serving me milk it might be worse. At least tea is hot.
"You promised me," I say, dunking my cookie in my tea but not looking at him.
"I just don't see how this is smart."
"Why does it have to be smart?"
"We've had a good trip together. Why ruin the last few weeks?"
"We're not ruining it. We're making them better. Sex, Blake. Sex makes everything better."
He presses his lips together, and I finally meet his gaze. The determined set of his jaw makes me realize how far we slid in the wrong direction without me being completely aware. When did this happen?
I thought we might battle over our new direction after he kissed me, but then the kisses kept coming, so I stopped anticipating his cautiousness. Clearly, I still have a lot to learn where he's concerned.
"You're not pulling a Niagara Falls on me. Tell me what you're afraid of."
We're seeped in silence for several minutes before his broad shoulders ease a little, and he rubs his forehead. "I don't want to lose you," he rasps. "I don't see how we do this, and that isn't the outcome."
His admission causes joy and sadness to mix in me, the strangest concoction. Instead of staying on my side of the table, I leave my seat and I drag him out of his, so he's standing, and we're pressed together. His hand strays to my ass, and I slide mine under the back of his shirt, keeping him close.
The problem with his logic is that I think we're already there. If I saw him with another woman, it would break my heart. You can't be just friends with someone if your heart shatters when they find their happiness with someone else. Even I can't lie to myself about that.
Whether we sleep together or not, he already feels too much like mine for me to ever be okay with sharing him. I can't. I won't.
"We get to make our own rules," I say. "We can be whatever we want, in any way we want."
