Page 73 of Blitz

“This is a real date,” I remind him. “It works for us.”

He presses a kiss to my palm. “Want to get out of here?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

He grabs both trays and returns them before I can get up and do it. He drops a kiss to my temple on the way back. He offers me his hand, and I slip mine into his.

Being with Tucker is easy. I don’t have to pretend to be someone I’m not. He knows me—at least, he knows who I used to be. We have a history. That doesn’t get erased simply because it’s been a while since we’ve been together. If anything, it’s made us stronger. We’re not picking up where we left off, not exactly; we’re building something new, using existing pieces of the puzzle.

I don’t get nervous butterflies in my belly when I’m with him. I don’t freeze up and lose my mind. I’m the best version of myself when he’s around. He makes me want to be a better person, full stop.

Melissa is on the couch with some guy I don’t recognize. They’re touching but pretending they’re not, like we don’t notice his hand high on her thigh or her hand inches from the very obvious boner tenting his joggers.

“Hey, girl,” she says.

I grab my sunflowers. “We’re going upstairs. Don’t have sex on the couch.”

“We’re not—I’m not—”

“I don’t care. Not on the couch, please. Do it in your room or the shower like the rest of us.”

Tucker snorts out a laugh. I take his hand and lead him up to my room.

I didn’t even think about the pictures the other day. He looked like he didn’t know what to think of them, of us. I like the memories. I didn’t lock them away; I celebrated the good times and mourned the bad. I remembered him, the good, the bad, and the ugly.

He kicks off his shoes and takes a careful seat on the edge of my bed. I push ineffectually at his shoulder, and he laughs, pretending I’m actually moving him, until I have him in the position I want: laying on my bed, his front pressed to my back, his arm wrapped around my middle. I lay my head back on his shoulder and sigh.

“You okay, sunshine?” He drops a kiss to my shoulder.

“I’m perfect.” I snuggle closer, and he tightens his arm around me. I’m enveloped in a cocoon of his warm embrace.

Turning on Notting Hill is the best idea I’ve had since I approached him in the dining hall that night he kissed me. We watch the movie we’ve both seen nearly a thousand times, reciting lines of dialogue to each other. His hand roves over my hip, my ribcage, my thigh, touching, touching.

He doesn’t try to get into my pants. He doesn’t try to grope me. He simply touches me, holds me, as we watch my favorite movie. Occasionally, he kisses my shoulder or my temple.

“How are you doing?” I crane my head back to look at him.

“I’m great. You okay?”

Slowly I shuffle in the bed, so we’re facing each other. I lay my hand on his bearded cheek and kiss him softly.

Tucker pulls back. “Nope. Nuh-uh. Not happening.”

I frown. “I’m not—”

“You’re trying to seduce me,” he says. His eyes are bright with mischief. “You think turning on Julia Roberts and batting your eyelashes will change my mind. We’re not having sex tonight, Princess. Not until you work through whatever is bothering you.”

“I’m not trying to seduce you,” I protest weakly. “It was just a kiss.”

He runs his hand through my hair, his enormous hand cupping the back of my head, cradling my skull. “It always starts with just a kiss, and then it always turns into more. You know I’m defenseless around you, baby.”

Chapter thirty

Tucker

Her eyes are bright. “I kind of like that about you.”

I kiss her slowly. “No sex.”