Page 117 of Under the Weatherman
We hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements, and I had no plans to pressure her, even if there was only one bed, but as soon as the door closed, I said, “Can I take a risk?”
“Point number twenty? So soon?”
“It doesn’t feel soon.” I held her hand and gazed into those beautiful blue eyes, summoning the courage to tell her the words I’d kept secret for weeks. “I’m falling in love with you.” That was a lie.Take a risk.“No, not falling. I fell a while ago. Iamin love with you.”
She inhaled sharp, her eyes wide with surprise, like I hadn’t been trying to show her my love with every single action. Was it possible she hadn’t felt it? Were the words too soon?
“Looks like we’re going to have to fudge point number ten, then,” she said, lifting her hand to my cheek. “I’m supposed to kiss someone I like on New Year’s Eve.”
When she rose up onto her toes and pressed her lips to mine, I stupidly whispered. “You can still kiss me on New Year’s Eve.”
She laughed against my mouth. “But I don’t like you anymore.”
“No?” I needed her to say it.
“No. I don’tjustlike you.” She kissed me again, this time more sensually, tempting me to beg her, but she gave those words back to me freely. “I love you, too.”
At her confession, something deep inside me cracked open, like the last lie I’d been telling myself finally released itself from my psyche, and I accepted her admission as truth: she loved me. She’d shown me in so much more than words how she cared for me, but I could have wept in relief that this amazing woman could find me worthy of her love.
My patience broke, and my hands dug into her hair so I could kiss her good and thoroughly. Her fingers were on my tie, loosening the knot, unbuttoning my shirt, and I caught up with her, peeling the zipper down on the back of her dress. Within minutes, we’d shed every article of clothing, and I didn’t hesitate to lift her up and carry her to the bed.
I’d intended on holding out until the end of the month, win at romance, earn her trust, then re-introduce intimacy, like some kind of prize for getting everything right, but as I lay beside Elizabeth, tracing her body, kissing her deep, I knew with certainty that everything alreadywasright, that friendship, romance, and intimacy weren’t three separate things when I was with her. I liked her. I loved her. I wanted her.
Her back arched as I touched her, and I would have been content to satisfy her like this, then snuggle up and check off thesleep extra latepoint, but she reciprocated, dragging her hand up my cock. And then she started whispering dirty, dirty things to me, and my need for her overpowered my chivalry.
“Flip onto your back so I can ride you like a cowgirl.”
I lived to serve.
She used my body, and it took all my willpower not to disappoint her by shooting too early, but I’d missed touching her. I’d missed the feel of her against me. I’d missedher. “Elizabeth, fuck. I love you.”
Despite what she’d said about words versus actions, as soon as I’d said it, she leaned forward, kissing me hard as she drove her hips harder. When she rasped my name, I couldn’t hold back any longer.
She slowed, eyes open, and asked, “You good? Or?” She rocked her hips, like she hadn’t noticed how good I was. Like I could have maintained any control with her looking that goddamn sexy.
I held her still. “I’m great.”
“Yeah, you are.”
We ended up sleeping extra late, but did it count if we were awake most of the night making up for lost time? We kissed, snuggled, and talked about our hopes and dreams, checking off point number seventeen. But at Elizabeth’s insistence, I fucked her from behind, and at my insistence, I sucked on her until she shuddered. We fell asleep absolutely worn out and sated.
The next two weeks, we tackled the rest of our list from a whole new perspective. We weren’t courting to prove anything. We just liked spending time together. We checked off the wine tasting with Bas and Chelsea. They’d worked things out and, to everyone’s surprise, Chelsea was giving Bas a real chance to romance her. Over a glass of Pinot Grigio, she and I shared our experiences with therapists, trauma, and fucking up relationships in less than eight weeks. We didn’t become best friends overnight, but we established a truce. Anything for Elizabeth.
Then we headed to D.C. to knock off two museums, but honestly, we’d bitten off more than we’d bargained for, and after the Word museum, we decided to relax in a bakery over coffee and chocolate croissants before admitting defeat. “We can go to your place and watchTwister,” she said. “Fudge it.”
I loved that idea.
Christmas week, Elizabeth told me about how she hadn’t spent a holiday with her family in a long time since her parents traveled so much, and her siblings had their own traditions. I briefly flirted with the idea of bringing her to my parents’ house to celebrate, especially when Bas invited Chelsea back to Richmond, but it was a long drive, and I had to work the day after Christmas. But I had Christmas day off so I said, “Let’s make our own traditions.”
We went shopping and brought home a mishmash of holiday items: a tiny Christmas tree, a handful of ornaments, ingredients for sugar cookies, a board game, and two pairs of matching pajamas.
Christmas morning, we holed up in my house, sipping on hot cocoa in our green and red flannel PJs and exchanging gifts. We’d agreed to keep things simple, so I gave her a joke present—a “signed” copy ofMuch Ado About Nothing—and something I knew she wanted to read. She gave me a joke present, too—a mug that said,100% chance of me talking about weather—but also a fat doorstopper of a fantasy I’d been curious about. And so we ended up curled up under blankets on my sofa, reading all night.
She looked up and asked, “Hey, did we check everything off already?”
We had. “Guess we’re shopping early.”
“I think it’s only fair you get twenty minutes, too.”
