“It isn’t stupid,” I said. It was fucking amazing. She was fucking amazing. Tough and smart and indestructible.
She looked at me. Her hair was still messed from the sex we’d had, and she was wearing my shirt. If there was ever a better sight in the universe, I’d never seen it. “So now you know about me,” she said. “Which of us wins the screwed-up Olympics?”
“Still me,” I said. “Definitely me.”
“Okay, you’re probably right. But do I win anything for second place?”
I thought about it. “You win complimentary access to my air conditioning and my kitchen. And the undeniable pleasure of my company.”
Tessa sighed. “Those big words.” She came forward on all fours and moved closer to me. “I like your company.”
I could smell her—sex, shampoo, woman. I cupped the back of her head when she got close and kissed her, me sitting up, her on all fours. It got hot, fast. She tasted so incredibly good.
“Why me?” I asked her when we finally broke the kiss. “Of all the guys. Why me?”
“Some things are just fate,” Tessa said. “Don’t you think?”
I couldn’t answer, because she kissed me again. I could taste ice cream on her tongue.
She slid her hand down my stomach and beneath the sheet, where I was getting hard again. She broke the kiss as she stroked me. “I bet I can think of something you haven’t had in seven years,” she said softly.
My voice was choked. “That isn’t necessary.”
“I think it is.” She kissed her way down my chest, my stomach. Lower.
She was right, of course. Seven years.
We fixed that.
She told me it tasted better than ice cream.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Tessa
Four dayslater I was the Millwood Market, rolling my cart down the produce aisle. I had mooched enough of Andrew’s food; I figured it was time to chip in for some groceries. The least I could do was feed him.
It was hot out, though the brutal heat wave was gone. The sky was blinding blue, the wind summer-perfect. It was the kind of day that people took off work to go to beaches or parks, the kind of day to lounge in the shade before firing up the barbecue. I was wearing roomy cargo pants, a white tee, and flip-flops, my sunglasses pushed to the top of my head as I shopped. I paused my cart by the dairy case, stared blankly at a display of cheese, and realized I was happier than I could ever remember being in my life.
Seriously, I was so happy my feet felt like they were barely touching the floor. The past few days with Andrew had done that.
It wasn’t just the sex—though, to be fair, the sex was amazing. Andrew had a brochure with twenty-six suggested positions in it, and we spent our nights experimenting with as many of them as possible. Some of them worked better than others, but it was always slow and hot and perfect. I’d never been with a man so focused on giving me pleasure, on getting it right, on making every time better than the last. It turned out I didn’t need elaborate acrobatics orFifty Shades of Grey. I just needed him. Only him.
But it honestly wasn’t just the sex. Instead of sleeping afterward we usually talked, sometimes for hours, curled up and relaxed in the dark together. By day, we hung out, fully clothed, trading jokes and keeping each other company. Andrew was hard at work on the Lightning Man comics, and he had his appointments. Yesterday I’d met his psychotherapist, a fiftyish man named Dr. Costas who was very dignified and serious, though the crow’s feet around his eyes crinkled warmly when he greeted Andrew, as if he liked him a lot. The crinkling crow’s feet meant I approved of Dr. Costas, and I left them alone to do their session.
I was busy; I had lawyers’ meetings about my inheritance and errands to run. I had to pick up my check for the modeling gig and my one and only paycheck from Miller’s. I had started packing up some of the things in my grandmother’s house to donate or sell. I was starting to think of the house as mine, pondering how I might make it look if I stayed there.
Because it looked like I was going to stay there, at least for the foreseeable future. I had no desire to leave Millwood, no wish to live anywhere except across the street from Andrew Mason. I’d picked up information for applying to nursing school. If they accepted me, I was going to do it, which would keep me here for at least the next few years.
For the first time in my life, things felt settled. They felt good. I didn’t know where Andrew and I were going, but at the moment I sure as hell liked it. But I spent a lot of time at his house, eating the food from his kitchen. So here I was today, balancing that out.
I put fruit in my cart, and nuts and Greek yogurt. Andrew was a healthy eater, which was why he had such a hot body. He also worked out in his workout room every day, and I approved of the resulting muscles. Yum.
I turned the corner to the cereal aisle, and someone blocked my way. I looked up. It was a man—a handsome, pretty much gorgeous, man. He had tousled dark hair, stubble, and muscles for days under his dark gray tee. His low-slung jeans hid what was obviously a perfect body. His Converse sneakers were practically disintegrating. I looked back up to his face and saw that he was scowling at me.
I’d never seen this man before, but I recognized him as clearly as if I’d met him dozens of times. It was in the cheekbones, the eyes, and definitely in the scowl. This could be no one else but—
“Nick Mason?” I said.