Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
He pushes up on his elbows, sheet sliding dangerously low on his hips. “You’re an angel.”
“I’m hungry,” I correct, handing him a fork. “I bet you are, too. We burned a lot of calories last night.”
“Preach.” He scoots up against the headboard, making room for me beside him. “My abs are actually sore. My fucking muscles are clearly not in peak condition.”
“Felt pretty peak to me.” I climb onto the bed with the fruit plate. “But I’m happy to help you stay in better shape moving forward.”
“Like I said. An angel.” He pops a strawberry into his mouth with another wicked grin.
We eat in comfortable silence for a moment, passing dishes back and forth, pouring coffee, stealing bites from each other’s plates while the waves crash outside. The morning feels soft and golden and almost too good to be real.
If I look at it directly, it might vanish like a mirage in the desert.
“So,” Parker says, spearing a potato with his fork. “We missed the crab suicide watch last night. Are you sad?”
“Very sad,” I say, trying not to stare as his lips close around the potato. It’s a little embarrassing that I’m still this hot for him after everything we did last night, but…here we are. “Though I’d argue our alternative activities were nearly as fun.”
“Agreed. But I think there’s another viewing party tonight. Same beach, same time, same potential for crustacean-based disappointment.”
I grin. “You want to try again?”
“I mean, we did drive all this way to watch shellfish fling themselves to their doom.” He steals a piece of my bacon—the thief. “Seems wrong not to give it another shot. We could walk down to the pier, see if we can score tickets.”
“True. I want to walk the pier anyway. Find some terrible tourist t-shirts for our collection.”
“‘I Got Crabs in Mobile’ shirts are a must,” he agrees solemnly.
This is good. This is us, bantering over breakfast like we’ve done since we moved in together. Like last night didn’t fundamentally change what I realized sex could be, when you’re with someone who sees everything and hides nothing.
Someone honest and real and caring with no agenda except giving his lover pleasure.
But last night did change everything.
I know it, and I suspect Parker does, too.
The knowledge sits between us, not quite awkward, but definitely present.
“More coffee?” I ask, reaching for the carafe at the same time he does.
Our fingers brush. We both freeze for a heartbeat, then smile.
“Sorry,” we say in unison, which makes us laugh.
“This is weird,” I admit, pouring his coffee first. “Good weird, but weird.”
“It’s the transition part,” he says, adding cream to both our cups without asking because he already knows how I like it. “From ‘desperately wanting to bone’ to ‘have successfully boned multiple times’ to ‘would like to keep boning but also hold hands in public when we’re sober.’ It’s a dance, but we’ll get there.”
“Is that all you want?” The question slips out before I can stop it. “Hand-holding when we’re sober?”
He sets his coffee down, giving me his full attention. The morning light turns his eyes the most beautiful sky blue, and the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip.
“Nah, I want everything,” he says simply. “Hand-holding, more road trips, you yelling at me about proper knife maintenance in the kitchen. Our kitchen. I want to take you to games and show you off, and help you get your food truck up and running, and be your first customer every day.”
My throat goes tight. “Parker, that’s—”
“But there’s no pressure,” he cuts in. “And no rush. I know we’re still figuring things out. I’m just saying I wouldn’t mind if that’s the way this goes.”
And maybe I wouldn’t, either.
God, I don’t know. I only know I’m not nearly as good at talking about feelings as he is. So instead, I lean in for a soft, lingering kiss that I hope he can tell means I wouldn’t mind that, either.
Any of it.
All of it?
When I pull back, his eyes are slightly dazed. “You don’t feel pressured?”
I shake my head. “No, I don’t. I just feel…happy.”
He smiles. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I trace the edge of his jaw, marveling that I’m allowed to touch him whenever I want, without my inner psycho shouting that it’s not going to work out because he’s too young or too crazy or too Parker.
He’s perfectly Parker, and I’m pretty sure I want him to be perfectly mine.
“You’re kind of the real deal, turns out,” I add.
He gives a mock roll of his eyes. “Duh. Been trying to tell you that for literally over half a year.”
I shrug. “Yeah, well, I’m stubborn. Sometimes in a good way. Sometimes in a dumb way.”
“You’re not dumb,” he says, his smile falling away as he catches my hand. “You’ve been through it with a bunch of assholes.” He pauses, pressing a kiss to my palm. “But I’m not them, and I never will be. Scout’s honor.”