Page 64 of Fall For Me
A door slams, jolting me in surprise. Hannah raises up and looks over her shoulder.
“Hey, Sean? Um . . . we gotta run.”
“I told you not to let me catch you up here again, young lady!” The old man yells, storming toward us.
We both hop up and take off, darting around the security guard; her going left and me going right. Our laughter trails behind us as we run down the stairs, launching ourselves over the rails to the next flight of stairs. We take the elevator down until we’re on the first floor, darting through the lobby and bursting through the glass doors. The second my foot hits the sidewalk, I toss Hannah over my shoulder and take off.
“Put me down!”
“Not a chance,” I pant.
My lungs are on fire, and my ribs fucking ache, but I don’t stop to put her down until we’re a few blocks away. Bending at the waist, I fight to catch my breath and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand before sweat drips into my eyes.
Hannah glances between my empty hands and my face. “You . . . you didn’t grab my menudo?”
I turn around to go back and get her soup, but she grabs my arm, stopping me. “I was kidding . . . You’d really do that for me?”
A gust of wind catches a strand of her hair, blowing it into her eyes as I turn back to face her. Reaching up, I sweep the curl back behind her ear so I can see her beautiful face. “I’ve jumped off a cliff for you. I’ve risked my career for you. I’ve lied, stalked, stolen, kidnapped, committed assault, and trespassed. All. For. You. Do you really think going back for a little soup is where I draw the line, Rebel?”
One second her feet are planted flat on solid ground. The next, her hands are in my hair, and her legs are coiled around my waist as she kisses the fuck out of me.
I carry her into the alley and pin her back to the brick wall. “You’re testing all my self-control here, mi amor. I really want to fuck youright now—add exhibition and indecent exposure to your laundry list of crimes.”
“So do it,” she says, skimming her lips up my neck and nipping my earlobe with her teeth. “Fuck me, Sean.”
Goddamn.
I’m hard as a fucking rock. So much so the pressure from my dick straining against my jeans is painful . . . but we can’t.”
“Not tonight, baby.”
The words leave my mouth, and I want to swallow them back. I know if I fuck her now, she’ll worry if we’re just falling back into the toxic cycle. How do I know that? Because I know her.
“I’m freaking the hell out, Smiley. She has me all kinds of fucked up. Look at me. I’m pouring sweat, and I just hopped out of the shower. What the fuck?” I pace back and forth, but I can’t seem to tamp down the anxiety. “I can’t explain it . . . My heart it . . . it aches, like someone’s reaching inside my chest and squeezing the fuck out of it. And every time I think about seeing her today? These tingles . . . they shoot right through me.”
I rub my arms, trying to alleviate the goosebumps. “My skin is humming. It’s fucking humming. Jesus Christ, why is my stomach doing this weird shit? I think I’m gonna puke.”
Facing my closet, I lock my fingers behind my head and take some calming breaths.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Yeah, it’s not working.
“I still feel like that with Aspen. It’s called being in love.”
“I’ve loved Hannah for a long time, and it’s never felt like this.”
“There’s a difference between loving someone and beingin lovewith them . . . you’re in love. And, man, I gotta tell you . . . I never thought I’d see the day a woman brought The Sean Mac to his fucking knees. Let alone have him scouring through his closet for an outfit—like a chick—and talking about his feelings.” Cal chuckles, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed against his chest, while I toss yet another shirt onto my bed. “Where’s Aiden? He’s so much better at this wardrobe shit.”
“First of all, have you seen how Aiden dresses?” I ask, raising a brow. “He’ll have me going over to your in-laws in an Armani suit. The man’s country, but he’s bougie as fuck. What if I wear jeans and a nice shirt?”
“No. You can’t go over there wearing jeans.”
“They’re not just any pair of jeans, Cal. They’re Amiri,” I argue.
“The answer’s no. What was your next point?”
“Huh?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.
