“But do you?” Hope. So much hope as he looks at me.
I don’t know how to answer that without laying all my cards on the table about just how much I like him. He’s good, too good. It’s just taken me months to see it. It’s taken months for him to peel back every layer and show me who he is. But this, the real him, I like him way too much.
“I hate you, remember?”
We share a knowing smile.
“Stevie girl, do you like me?” He pushes a corkscrew curl away from my face so he can see me.
My eyes dart between his and his lips. Unable to keep myself from him, I lean forward, closing the gap between us, pressing my mouth to his. He gives into me for a moment before he turns away, breaking the connection and shaking his head.
“Don’t.” He closes his eyes as if he’s in pain from stopping me. “Don’t do that unless there’s more that comes with it, and I don’t mean physically.”
“What do you mean?”
I know what he means.
“You know what I mean.” His eyes are focused and pointed at me. “I want more than just sex with you. I want you. All of you. I just want a chance.”
Opening up myself to him in that way is absolutely terrifying, but how could I not want him after everything he’s shown me? He’s been trying to choose me over and over again, and all I’ve ever wanted was to be someone’s first choice.
My pause causes defeat to fall across Zanders’ face as he looks away from me, his lips pressed in a hard line.
I use my index finger and thumb under his chin to bring his attention back to me. “Don’t hurt me.”
He searches my face, trying to read me as hope overtakes him. “I couldn’t.”
“If there’s ever a time where you don’t want this anymore, where I’m not your first choice anymore, tell me.”
The corners of his lips lift upward. “You’ll always be my first choice. Have been since the day I met you, sweetheart.”
“Be honest with me.”
“I will be. I am.” He cups my face, leaning his forehead on mine, his expression shifting. “But I’m not ready to be honest with the rest of the world yet.”
I nod against him. “You can play everyone else, but not me. Screw it. I’ll even support your made-up persona as long as you’re not that guy with me.”
“So, you like me?” His smile is eager and excitable.
I can’t help but laugh at this giant man asking such a childish question. “What do you think?”
“Say it. Stroke my ego, Stevie.”
I laugh into him, my head falling to his shoulder before I look back.
“You like me,” he coaxes, his lips only inches from mine as he stares at my mouth.
“Kiss me.”
“Say it, and I’ll do a whole lot more than kiss you, sweetheart.”
Fire burns in his hazel eyes, knowing he wants everything just as much as I do.
I playfully roll my eyes. “Yes. I like you, the most arrogant man in Chicago.”
I watch as the weight falls off him, his eyes bright and his smile pompous as hell. “I think you mean the sexiest man in Chicago.”
“As I said...the most arrogant man in Chicago.”
His smug smile makes its timely appearance. “Fucking knew it. I mean how could you not? I’m fucking great. I’m—”
“Shut up.” I slap a palm over his mouth. “Shut. Up,” I laugh.
His amusement shifts to desire as I drop my hand. He stands, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me as if I weigh absolutely nothing. “How about I make you shut up?”
He presses his mouth to mine, taking away any words I could say, as he carries me to the kitchen island, sitting me on top.
“I’d rather you make me scream,” I retort, already far too out of breath.
A devilish smirk spreads across his mouth, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Now that I can do.”
30
ZANDERS
I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so light in my life. I feel seen, chosen, and accepted by someone I choose just as much.
Sitting Stevie on top of my kitchen island, I stand between her legs and kiss her hard, my mouth endlessly exploring hers. To my defense, she’s equally as eager, legs wrapped around me, heels pushing into my ass, needing me closer.
Moving from her lips, I skim mine across her jaw and down her neck, pulling a soft moan from Stevie’s throat.
“Zee, wait,” she whispers, but at the same time wraps her arms around my shoulders, pulling me into her.
“No more waiting.” I continue my assault down her neck and across her chest, pushing her flannel shirt over her shoulders, leaving her in only her tank top, and exposing more of her bronze skin.
“Zee,” she soothes, cupping my cheeks and pulling my face to look at hers. Concern dances in her eyes. “We should talk about your mom. We kind of skimmed over that.”
I’m good without that. The last thing I want to do right now is think about that woman. I spent a solid twenty minutes stuck in a panic-stricken headspace because of her today.
I shake my head. “Vee, I really don’t want to.”
“Are you sure? You know you can talk about her with me if you want to.”
I can’t hold back the small smile creeping across my lips. For the first time in a long time, I feel perfectly safe and protected, spilling every little detail of my life.
“I know. But I feel good. I feel great even, and I’d rather fuck my girl than talk about the gold-digging woman who gave birth to me.”
Stevie drapes her arms over my shoulders, a single brow lifting. “Your girl, huh?”
I hide away in her neck. “You’re so lucky.”
Stevie’s body shakes in a laugh. “You’re the lucky one.”
Wearing far too big of a proud smile, I pull away from the crook of her neck. She never talks about herself this way, but confidence sure sounds good coming from her.
“Hell yeah, I am.” Leaning into her, I find her mouth once more, tasting, sweeping, my tongue exploring.
A large part of me can’t believe I get to do this. That she’s willing to give me a chance regardless of my shitty reputation, but I’m not trying to question it. I just want to appreciate her and the moment.
Cupping her face with one hand, my other palm anchors on the kitchen island as I urge Stevie back to lie down. I climb right on top of her, my sweatpants doing absolutely nothing to hide how eagerly ready I am to change the fact that I haven’t had sex in over two months.
My phone interrupts me by dinging with a text, but I ignore it. Instead, I continue to feverishly make out with the pretty girl on my counter until it dings once again.
Growling in frustration, I lift my body from Stevie’s and lean over her, grabbing my phone.
Maddison: Close your fucking curtains.
Maddison: Don’t ignore me, asshole. Close your fucking curtains.
Laughing, I kiss Stevie’s lips once more before peeling myself off her.
Standing in front of my window, I spot Maddison across the street in his living room, hands on either side of his black-out drapes. He shakes his head at me in disapproval before violently shutting the curtains. But before he goes, he slips his hand between the material and the glass, shooting me a thumbs-up.