“You’re the first woman I’ve said that to since I was man enough to know what the fuck it really means,” he offered. And since he’d truly known who he was, and what he needed from a lover.
“Aw. Well, you’re the first man I’ve said it to, period. Both the other boyfriends were, like… I dunno. Dudes.”
“Tell me I’m better in bed than either of them.”
“Oh my God, yes. I feel like I never even had sex before I fucked you.”
“I love you.”
She laughed. “It’s true. I mean, not like I’d never been given an orgasm or anything, but fuck, Flynn.”
He grinned, all lit up inside.
“It’s like I thought I knew what a strawberry tasted like because I’d smelled a scratch-n-sniff sticker of one. But you…”
“Never stop talking.”
“Not that fucking you isn’t a little terrifying,” she said, “but you’ve absolutely ruined me for every other man on the planet for all time.”
“My work here is done.”
* * *
Laurel woke with the sun, which was to say, late. The winter light looked lazy, more slinking through the blinds than shining. She wished she could stay in this bed, beside this warm man, all day. But such was not reality.
She rolled over, shoving at Flynn’s arm until he did the same and let her spoon him.
His work had him up around five most mornings, and even with the punishment of fight nights he was awake by six on the weekends. “You slept in,” she said through a yawn.
“Not entirely. Mostly I’ve just been sitting here, watching you sleep.” He said it in a creepy, breathy voice, and wrestled around to take a dramatic whiff of her hair, sending her into giggles. He knew she found that trope laughably disturbing.
She poked his chest. “Gross. Why do people think that’s a sexy thing for a guy to do in books and movies? Watch a woman sleep?”
“Stalkers must do well in fiction.”
“Very. But believe me—I know and trust and love you, but if I ever wake up to find you sitting beside me on my bed, just staring at me…”
“Dumpsville?”
“I dunno. Just… Just be jacking it, please.”
He laughed.
“Have the decency not to pretend like it’s broody and romantic. Perv all-in. If not, yes, Dumpsville. Population: you.”
“That go both ways?”
She considered it. “The thing about reversing the genders on pervy bullshit is that while the woman would still seem creepy as fuck to other women, the dude she was victimizing would probably be stoked, because he could get laid.”
“Feminism’s complicated.”
“Not complicated—complex. And don’t act like you’re not one. You’re a product of the matriarchy if I’ve ever seen one.” He’d been raised by his charmingly domineering older sister from puberty onward. “Plus if you didn’t know how to treat women with respect and consideration, you’d never get your way in bed.”
“Fair.”
“You, my darling, would be creepy as fuck, if not for your feminism.”
He shushed her, pulled her to him for a kiss Laurel refused to part her lips for. He might not care about her morning breath, but she did. She stroked his rough jaw and cheeks, wondering as always how he’d look with a week’s stubble, the beginnings of a beard. Sadly, he shaved every morning he was working.
“Hang on,” she said, regretfully leaving the covers. She’d not gotten around to putting anything on and could feel goose bumps breaking out all over her body as she scrambled for her tee and pajama bottoms. “Jesus, it must be fifty degrees in here.”
“Thermostat’s set to sixty-two.”
“That’s barbaric. If I ever move in with you, I’m reprogramming it.”
“Small price.”
She glanced his way to catch him grinning. He’d already invited her to move in, when she’d been bitching about her landlord hiking the rent again. It was Laurel who wasn’t quite ready. For one, her apartment was six minutes’ walk from her job. For another, one of her two roommates was her best friend. Plus being here when Flynn wasn’t… There was something lonely about it. Maybe it wouldn’t feel that way if she moved her stuff in and there was a TV and she could listen to her music, but all the same, she wasn’t there yet. Whether she could stand Flynn twenty-four-seven, that wasn’t an issue. It was whether or not he’d be up for her around the clock that worried Laurel. Maybe that was insecurity talking, or maybe pragmatism. Either way, she wasn’t yet ready to find out which.
She brushed her teeth and tamed her hair, bumped the thermostat up to sixty-eight before climbing back under the covers.
“Oh, so warm. Let’s just hibernate until May.”
“When do you need to be at work?” He kissed her neck.
“Ten.”
He eyed the clock on the shelf above their heads. “Let’s see… Twenty-minute shower, ten-minute drive… That leaves nearly an hour for fucking.”
“Hang on, now—factor in putting on makeup, drying my hair…”
“Your hair’ll dry during the fucking.”
“I think I’ll earn better tips if I don’t look like I’ve got a red bird’s nest on my head.”