Slowly,slowly, his hands drop to his sides and he turns around. Shaking his head, he starts to say, “What—”
I stare through him. “Am I making it worse?”
A heavy beat passes where it’s so quiet, there’s no possible way he can’t hear the pulse pounding in my ears.
He was laughing,I think, remembering when I first saw him tonight. He was laughing and smiling and singing…
And I thought he was drunk.
Because I didn’t see how he could possibly be happy after what happened in the diner—after I spent the day in agonizing worry over what I’d be walking into once I got here.
Imagining the worst…
I squeeze my eyes shut as the reality of what happened finally sinks in.
I underestimated him.
I fucked up.
I let old ghosts win.
“Baby.”
My shoulders tense. Pretty sure my heart tenses too, if that’s even possible.
My lashes flutter open to find Waylon watching me with tear-filled eyes. He’s not quite smiling, but his dimples are out, sinking deep into his cheeks.
“Baby,”he says again, this time so much deeper, and then he’s crawling into my lap.
He doesn’t call me that often. He’s not one to use cutesy pet names, not like me, who will call him every cutesy name in the book.
He pretends to hate it, but he doesn’t fool me.
So whenhedoes it, especially when he calls methat, it feels like a weapon. One forged specifically to make me shatter. Make me melt.
Hands clutch my face as jean-clad knees come down on either side of my hips. He’s not much smaller than me, so it’s awkward, but perfect, as his ass sits back on my knees.
Lifting my face to his, I guide his rain-stained lips to mine.
He sighs—or maybe it’s me. Maybe it’s both of us as our tongues push feverishly into each other’s mouths.
His fingers move into my hair, tugging, while my hands move to his back, gripping.
Arching into me, his hard chest slides up against mine. I’m shirtless, he’s not, but he might as well be.
He’s all damp cotton and slick, steamy skin. All desperate fingers and grinding hips and if he doesn’t get naked soon I’m going to explode.
"You're here," he pants, his fingertips finding my cheeks once more, trembling over my stubble.
"I'm here," I say, my voice breaking, as I wrap my arms fully around his back, holding him impossibly tighter.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he growls into my mouth before biting down on my lower lip.
A grunt punches out of me as I reach up, fork my fingers in his hair, and wrench his head back.
Waylon’s lashes flutter up at the ceiling. Mouth agape.
So much for sex being the last thing on our minds.