Oh god, I was so distracted by the mess of boxes scattered around me that I hadn’t recognized him.
Now I can’t breathe.
I swear to god the floor crumples under my feet and I’m falling from one end of the Earth to the other. Because I just did not expect to see Tahoe here. He’s dressed in his work suit, except for that cap that covers that mane of delicious blond hair. It’s almost as if the wind is extra crazy today and that’s how he chose to tame his hair, rather than brush it.
His beard is a little longer, a little too sexy, and the beast has such a beautiful face that my eyes nearly ache from how much I missed seeing it.
His eyes sparkle at my expression of surprise, and he places a wrapped sandwich from the Whole Foods bag on a plate and hands it over. He smiles a little sardonically, still looking into my eyes as I take it and just hold it like a nitwit, all while I hold his gaze, hold my breath, hold onto this moment.
“Aren’t you going to eat it?” His voice is low and intimate, almost as if Wynn and Rachel and all the movers aren’t bustling around here.
Exhaling as I try to calm my heartbeat, I unwrap the sandwich, open my mouth, and take a bite.
The seconds seem to stretch on forever and at the same time, they seem to be swallowed up by the present when Wynn peers past my shoulder. “What is that? Turkey club? God, I want one.”
“Go right ahead.” Tahoe grabs one and tosses it in the air to Wynn, who catches it readily.
Tahoe’s voice is lower than usual, his drawl noticeable as he looks back at me and takes a step only to lightly touch his finger to my nose as if saying, We’re good, right?
I look up at him. He stares at my face from so close that we could almost be one. He reaches out to rumple my hair, smiles at me the way he usually does, as if I amuse him, and grabs my sandwich and takes a bite of it for himself.
I nearly melt with relief. After many nightmares, tossing and turning, wondering if whatever friendship we had was over, my T-Rex is here, and he’s back.
We all gather around the kitchen counter to eat, and I’m surreptitiously looking at Tahoe’s profile as we all take a little break and chow down.
Suddenly my home does feel like home.
Busy, and lively, and though it’s still 50 percent littered with boxes and wrapped furniture, I’m not scared about being in this place all alone anymore.
He’s the last to leave.
We’re sitting on the living room’s natural wood floor, leaning against the wall that faces my window with the best view, my couches still covered in plastic, and our legs aligned, side by side, when I toe his foot.
“Cast gone, huh?”
Pulling back the sleeve of his white button shirt (he’d discarded his jacket a while ago), he shows me his thick, tanned wrist and turns it over. “Good as new.”
We smile at the same time, but when our lashes lift, our eyes aren’t smiling at all.
And suddenly I have to speak what’s been on my mind all day.
“Would you have liked me to throw your food like you threw my pie?” I stare out the window as I say this. I’m not sure I have the courage to look at him right now.
I glance sideways at him when he remains silent. “Why?” I ask.
A rueful grin appears on his lips, almost apologetic, but something dark lurks in his gaze. “Why do you think? Huh?” He studies me as if dissecting each and every one of my features. “Because I wasn’t hungry for pie.”
The rueful smile remains on his lips before he drops his head and laughs mockingly, stroking his dimple restlessly.
My stomach hurts, that queasy feeling back again in full force.
He sighs and shifts his shoulder against the wall until his torso is leaning in my direction. His dimple is nowhere in sight now. His stare as direct as a laser. And then, his voice is only a whisper that somehow fills up this whole room, this whole apartment, my whole heart.
“I want to kiss you.”
He lifts his fingers to rub my lips with three fingertips.
“I want to kiss you. I look at you, with those curves of yours and that wild hair and those dark eyes and that reluctant little smile, and I want to crush you against me, fill my hands with your hair and drown in your smell. And I want to kiss you.”
His eyes darken.
“I want to take off your lipstick so all you have is my mouth on you. Fuck Davis. Fuck everything but kissing you.”
He exhales roughly, his nostrils flaring as he lowers his fingers.
He lowers his fingers…and my lips tingle and burn and they want to part open and my tongue wants to lick him and I want him so much, I want every bit of what he described and more.
My throat can barely get out any words.
I stare at my feet and watch my toe somehow rub against the length of his shoe. “But then what? You strip my lips of everything but your mouth on mine, and then you’re gone and I have nothing. At least right now we have friendship. And it means more to me than you will ever know, Tahoe. It means so much to me. You mean so much to me.”
He shifts his shoe until all of my toes are resting on it now. “You mean as much to me too.”
“So then.” I scoff at our conversation and wave a hand dismissively. “I’ll give you a peck on New Year’s. If you happen to be around.” I smirk.
He doesn’t smirk.
“I think I’ll take it right now.” He leans over and pecks me.
Just a peck.
On the lips.
His lips pressing on mine for just a nanosecond while my lips instinctively press back. And his lips are warm and strong and HIS. And my world tilts and everything becomes nothing, and nothing but a peck becomes everything.
Everything.
A fiery warmth oozes from the contact of our bodies. He eases back, his gaze piercing the mere few inches between us. His lips curve lightly, and though the smile touches his eyes, I can tell that his hunger was only stoked.
Just like mine…
“You available this Friday? I need a plus one.”
I clear my throat and nod. I’m still so dazed and disbelieving he just did that, but I’m happy to be back on casual terms, happy to pretend his lips weren’t hot and a little possessive on mine. “Done. What do I wear?”
I don’t tell him that Friday is my birthday because I haven’t yet made plans, and a plan with him is better than any, really.
He glances at the mess of boxes thoughtfully then digs his hand into the closest one. “This.”
He grins and extracts the first thing that comes out: an apron.
“Haha.” I shove it back inside.
He laughs darkly, and I laugh too, and he says, “It’s a day event, wear whatever you’d like.”
“Okay. Pajamas,” I joke.
“I’m game.” He grins devilishly.
We share a long, charged look, then I set my cheek on his shoulder and it feels so right to just sit here in my apartment with him. “Thanks for hooking me up with your friend.”
“Anything for you, Regina.”
His usual teasing tone is absent from his voice. He sounds somber, certain, honest. We sit there, admiring my new place, until his phone starts buzzing between us. After a while, he curses in exasperation and pulls it out, checks the screen, and I see the number 18 on his text-alert icon.
“Wow. Spurning some invitations somewhere?” I narrow my eyes in bemusement. “They really want you there.”
He tucks it back into his pocket. “Yeah. Not interested.”
* * *
I’m distracted Thursday night as I have dinner with Trent at Carnivale. He asked if I was available on the evening of my birthday. I’m exhausted after moving and unpacking, but he’s been trying so hard that I couldn’t deny him the night before.
He’s trying his best to make me laugh, but I almost feel like I’m forcing it. I don’t understand my mood. I remind myself about the letter at the bottom of the lake that Tahoe and I burned so long ago, knowing that Paul is fish food no
w. He can’t hurt me now. But I can’t shake off the restlessness I feel. Why I can’t connect with Trent the way I do with…well, HIM.
At the end of dinner, Trent gives me a big box and tells me I can open it in my apartment. I’m hesitant to invite him over, but I also don’t want to be rude when he’s clearly trying so hard to make my day special. I tell him he can come up for ten minutes while I open my gift. We sit in my living room and he watches me open the box that reads MAC.
“It’s all the makeup you could want for the year,” he says. “So you can always look like a queen.”
I love MAC.
I love makeup.
It’s what I do.
But something about getting more stuff to put on my mask makes my stomach sink. It’s been a battle to try to open up to Trent completely, and staring at a makeup kit, I wonder if he even cares to know what’s beneath.
In the distance I spot the apron Tahoe teased I should wear tomorrow, sticking haphazardly out of the box. I feel warmth surge through me, a smile appear on my face.
It seems to give Trent the wrong impression.
“God, you look gorgeous right now. I can tell you like my gift. Get back together with me, Gina,” he begs. He moves to kiss me but I quickly turn my mouth out of reach.
Even though a part of me wants to press my mouth to his because I wish that he were capable of erasing Tahoe’s peck from my lips. I want to feel in his kiss just a fraction of the electric thrill I felt from Tahoe’s lips, so firmly, so warmly, on mine.
But I can’t do it. Nothing feels right anymore.
“Just give me time. I’m just confused. New apartment…” I signal around. “I don’t know, just give me a little time.”
I look at him, trying to find pieces of him to love, really trying to find something that even resembles what I feel when I’m with my playboy Viking.
* * *
When Trent finally leaves, every muscle in my body aches from hauling and unpacking boxes. I take a hot shower and after soaping up and shampooing my hair, I stand under the water with my eyes closed. I roll my shoulders under the spray, run my hands over my scalp and dig in my fingers, trying to relax the pounding in my head. Rivulets of water slide down my face. A drop of water clings to my top lip. The feel of Tahoe’s lips pressed against mine returns unbidden. Soft but firm and warm and…oh god.
Right now in my quiet new apartment, in a shower that still feels a little unfamiliar, I can’t believe I had the willpower to keep my mouth closed and not part my lips and taste him in a way I have dreamed of tasting him for what feels like my whole life. I picture how his lips would move against mine and instinctively I know that he would take charge, that he would be the one kissing even if I started the kiss.
The water is pounding on the top of my head and my lips are tingling and I let myself kiss him in my mind. I remember us sitting close enough for me to turn and run my hands through his hair and press into him in the way only women who really, really want sex do—nipples tight against his hard chest, hips lined up against his. I kiss him in a way I’ve only dreamed about, and then I’m enveloped in his arms, which feel familiar but are holding me so possessively now, and I’m transported back to Tahoe in the outdoor shower during spring break. Unapologetically gorgeous and male, so full of himself and so muscular and golden, and so very naked.
And he’s just as naked right here in my shower, every inch of his naked form is pressed up against every inch of mine. My hands follow the rivulets sliding down my body, and I move them and move them, picturing Tahoe’s fingers inside me. The thoughts drive me wild. Soon I’m grabbing him closer and he’s got me pinned against him. I picture him moving in me, and he’s kissing me everywhere I want to be kissed, and when he kisses me again—just a peck on my lips, like the one he gave me today, the real one, dry and firm and so very unexpected and so delicately powerful—a thousand shudders rock through me, one after the other.
I’m panting seconds later. I lean my temple against the shower wall. I’m standing on unsteady knees, bracing myself. I should feel better, more relaxed, sated, but though the ache between my thighs has calmed down some, the ache in my chest only feels heavier.
PLUS ONE
It’s early Friday morning when Tahoe picks me up for his plus-one event, and when I step outside, he’s waiting in the vintage car I saw on the book cover at his place, a silver Mercedes-Benz that looks fit for a museum. As he walks around and opens the door for me, I remember my previous night’s fantasy and feel myself flush head to toe.
“Good morning,” he murmurs. And there’s that smile. That dimple. That devilish look in his eyes.
“Hey.” I smile and try to keep my calm, but it’s so hard when I feel his piercing gaze on me.
He keeps staring at me as he takes his seat behind the wheel. “Are you flushed today?”
He leans over and tips my chin up, and I push his hand away and laugh. “Of course not! Why would I be?” I ask, and hate that I feel myself flushing more as I busily strap on my seat belt.
He smiles to himself as he starts the car and pulls out into the road. We stop to have coffee first. We sit in comfortable silence while Tahoe reads the newspaper and I watch the city awaken, minute by minute as the sun rises. And by the time the Blommer Chocolate Company opens and Tahoe is leading me toward the doors of the factory, not the store, I stop in my tracks.
“Tahoe, there’s a reason I haven’t used the voucher you gave me. People don’t go in here for tours. I’ve never even heard of it¸ people don’t do this,” I say.
“They don’t,” he agrees with a grin, and then he keeps heading toward the factory door. “But you do.”
Anticipation courses through my veins. I feel like I won the last golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s factory as Tahoe leads me straight into the noisy, monstrously large building. A man who clearly has an important position in the factory, based on his clothes, greets us and walks us through the building. There are no chocolate waterfalls or Oompa Loompas. This is modern-world business on a grand scale. Huge melting tanks bigger than I am, liquid chocolate, and cocoa and sugar are all around.
The best part comes when we finally hit the store and can get our hands on the chocolates. There is dark chocolate, milk chocolate, and white chocolate; chocolate-covered cashews, pretzels, bananas, strawberries, and cherries.
“Wait for the best part.” He smirks as he motions toward something behind the register, covered from view.
The man gives T-Rex a secretive smile and pulls off the cover.
I’m staring at an enormous chocolate Versailles castle. I’m beyond speechless.
He chuckles, leads me around the register, and points at it. “They even have the windows right.” I can feel his gaze on my profile, taking in my reaction.
It’s hard to keep myself in check.
I turn to him—happy, confused, disbelieving, humbled, happy. “You want me to eat my own house? You are shameless.” My voice is breathless despite my words.
For a whole minute, he looks at me with this adorable smile and one lone dimple. Almost as if he’s waiting for me to say more.
The stare wears me down. I drop the act, step into his arms, and hug him. I just hug him and feel him hug me back so easily, and fit me right into his frame, his arms enveloping me like a world of warmth.
I’m not a hugger, so I’m surprised by how much I’d like to hug Tahoe for a long time.
“Happy birthday, Regina,” he says with a textured, drawling voice in my ear.
“Thank you, T-Rex. I didn’t know you knew.”
I pull away with effort and stare back at the castle, blinking away the sting in my eyes.
Ten minutes later we’re outside on a bench by my apartment, enjoying the warm summer wind as we exchange an assortment of bags loaded with chocolates. I nudge him with a bag. “Try this one.”
He nudges me back with his finger before he takes it and pops a chocolate-covered cashew in his mouth. “Nice.”
I look aw
ay, out at the street, in a desperate attempt to resist his captivating grin.
As he walks me back home, I’m still carrying a month’s supply of chocolate treats and already feeling remorse about having devoured all that chocolate.
Things feel easy again, almost as easy as before. If only my body weren’t so hyperaware of his proximity.
I’m thinking about it, about him having my picture, pecking me on the lips, when his gentle nudge brings me back from my daydreams.
“Still with me?” He quirks a brow, puzzled as he looks down at me.
I nod quickly. “I was thinking that only a best guy friend would give a girl this much chocolate. Otherwise he’d have to sleep with the chocolate padding her curves.”
“You’re kidding.” He stops walking and incredulously narrows his eyes, which gleam incredibly blue. His eyes leave mine in frustration then they come back, more piercing than ever. “Your curves are succulent. A guy could play with those for hours.”
A sky full of butterflies bursts inside my stomach, and I feel myself heat up.
“Shut up,” I whisper, nudging him with a scowl, unable to look into his eyes. “Everyone and everything is succulent for a T-Rex.”
His eyes become hooded. “Not this one,” he says.
And it’s the way he says it that keeps making these butterflies flap wildly inside me.
I look at him, see the heat in his eyes, and I am so scared to get hurt again.
To get hurt a thousand times more than I ever have.
And I think that he knows it too. There’s never been a guy in my life more protective of me than he is—to the point of protecting me from himself.
But that only makes me feel even more warmly toward him.
He follows me into my brand-new apartment. He sets my chocolate Versailles on my coffee table, and spots my MAC makeup box on the couch. I seemed to have left it there the night before.
“Trent gave me a makeup kit for my birthday,” I explain.
One second he’s smiling and the next he’s raising his fine arched eyebrows. His eyes shutter, but then he grins briefly, with no trace of his former frustration, and he chucks my chin. “Looks like we need another evening at the Pier to color some little fishes.”