“It does.” I kiss the back of her head. “Though I’m very confident our sex will always be amazing. I want to fuck you and make you come every single day.”
She looks at me, cheeks still a little flushed. “I’d like that, and I do like having a big bed to have sex in,” she adds with a slight laugh.
“I haven’t had sex in a car since…shit, my freshman year of college.”
“I’ve never had sex in a car.”
“Never?”
Chloe shakes her head, pushing her dark red hair back over her shoulder. “I also didn’t lose my virginity when I was fifteen, you whore.”
“How did you know that?” I ask, mind flashing back to my first time. I’d been dating Amanda Stillwell for a few months when we decided we didn’t want to be virgins anymore. Our first time was nothing to brag about, and I think I came in under three minutes. I never kept secrets from Chloe, but she was only thirteen at the time and our age difference started to bother me. I wanted her then, and I remember her starting to look more and more mature each day, making it harder for me to resist her. That’s when I started telling myself she was more like a sister to me. It was a futile attempt to safeguard her, to put her one zone further than the friend zone.
Obviously, it didn’t work.
“I knew a lot about you back then. I was low-key stalking your every move since I was hopelessly in love with you,” Chloe says so seriously I can’t tell if she’s joking or not. “I hid a digital voice recorder in your room and bribed Mason to bring it to me every morning before school by letting him see my boobs.”
I laugh. “Sadly, that would have worked.” I hold her tighter against me. “But you didn’t show him your boobs, did you?”
“No,” she chuckles. “You’re the only Harris to have seen them. Well, I think Rory’s seen them. I know we’ve changed in front of each other before. You’re the only Harris who’s touched them, that’s for sure.”
“As long as it stays that way.”
She tips her head up, biting her lip. I’ve come to notice she does it as a nervous habit, not because she’s trying to look seductive. “I hope you’re the only one from now on who gets to touch them.”
“I plan on it,” I tell her, fully meaning it. I’ve loved Chloe for so long. Now that she’s mine, I will do anything to keep it that way.
Anything.6Chloe“Are you hungry?” Sam fishes the keys to his apartment from his pocket.
“Starving,” I say as he unlocks the door and pushes it open wide, motioning for me to step in first.
“Good, because I might have made dinner. Well, not dinner, but something to eat.”
Smiling, I turn and am struck all over again by just how handsome Sam is. Thick brown hair, striking blue eyes, a sharp stubble-covered jaw and full lips. He’s exactly the type of man I’d write about…or maybe the men I write about look the way they do because of Sam.
He’s so much more than his good looks, though. He’s smart and kind and—most importantly—he’s my boyfriend now.
“You cooked for me?”
“Cooked is relative,” he chuckles and wheels my suitcase into the foyer, and then closes and locks the door behind us. The apartment is dark, and light from the city below illuminates the corner windows. “So if it’s terrible, don’t hold it against me.”
“As much as my dad likes to joke that I’m all prissy, I promise I’m not a picky eater. You put food in front of me, and unless it’s just garbage, I’m gonna eat it.” I lean over, undoing the straps to my sandals. I wanted to dress up more than I normally would for a plane ride, wanting to look good for Sam. But I draw the line at wearing heels on a plane. My flats are designer, not that Sam, or really anyone else for that matter, even cares. “Which probably is something I shouldn’t tell too many people.”
“Eating is one of my favorite things to do,” he says back, and I wiggle my eyebrows. We both laugh and Sam comes over, closing the distance between us. My eyes flutter shut when his arms go around me, and I let out a sigh of relief to be back here with him.
“Let’s eat,” I say, knowing he has to work in the morning. He plants a kiss on my forehead and takes my hand, leading me to the kitchen. I sit at the island counter and he opens the oven.
“It’s still warm,” he says, mostly to himself. “I just turned the oven off before I left and hoped it would retain the heat.” He pulls out a casserole dish and I immediately recognize what he made. My face lights up and my heart swells. “But I can reheat it if you want it warmer.” He sets the artichoke dip on the counter and gets a bowl of cut-up apple slices from the fridge.