The Beauty of Us (Fusion #4)

“So, no fights? No hard feelings?”

“We didn’t really fight,” I reply, wondering why this subject isn’t making me very uncomfortable with Riley. “I wasn’t excited about paying her alimony for three years, but aside from that, it was pretty low-key.”

“And she’s remarried?”

“Yep, to the dude she was fucking in my bed. It’s their bed now.”

“That’s weird,” she says, scrunching up her face. “I mean, I would not want to keep a bed that my guy had sex with his wife in. Does that make sense?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I let her have it.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“I’m not,” I reply honestly.

Her head comes up in surprise. “You’re not?”

“No. Divorce was inevitable. We just didn’t work well as a partnership. We wanted different things, had different philosophies.”

“You’re very grown up,” she says, tilting her head to the side the way she does that makes me want to pull her to me and kiss the hell out of her. “I like that about you.”

I chuckle as I stand and walk over to where she’s stirring her sauce. She takes a taste off her spoon, then holds it up for me to taste as well.

But rather than take it from the spoon, I lean in and kiss her. Thoroughly. She’s soft, and willing and so fucking sweet. She leans into me just as I take the spoon from her hand and lay it down, then pull her into my arms, enjoying the way her body fits against mine.

When I finally pull back, I smile down into her face and drag my fingertips down her cheek. “It tastes delicious.”

“What does?”

Her eyes are hooded, and she licks her lips, still holding on to me.

“The sauce.”

“What sauce?”

I kiss her forehead and then her lips again. “The sauce you made for us.”

“Oh, right.” She nudges her nose against mine. “I don’t care about the sauce.”

“I do.” I hug her tightly, and then pull away. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too, but it isn’t for spaghetti,” she mutters as she returns to stirring the sauce. “So you and your ex are still friendly?”

“Talking about my ex isn’t exactly what I like to do when I’m thinking about kissing you,” I inform her, and lean my hips on the counter.

“I’m trying to slow my roll here,” she says with a laugh. “So just humor me.”

“We’re on good terms, yes.”

“But you’re not weird like Cami, right?”

“How is Cami weird?”

“She’s not only on good terms with her ex, she’s pretty much besties with him. And she tried to set him up with all of us. She cares about him, but knew they shouldn’t be married. She felt so guilty, she just wanted him to find happiness.”

“Never heard that one before,” I say, rubbing my fingers over my lips. “No, I’m not friends with her like that. Unless we have business stuff to talk about, like alimony payments or paperwork, we don’t really speak.”

“Are you friends on Facebook?” she asks, her eyes narrowed.

“No,” I reply. “And I’m rarely on there anyway.”

She nods thoughtfully. “Okay, it sounds normal.”

“What about you? Are you still besties with all of your exes?”

“I’ve never been married,” she replies with a frown.

“Boyfriends?”

“Well, clearly Dave and I aren’t friends,” she says while rolling her eyes. “I mean, ew. No, I’m not friends with anyone I’ve ever dated in the past. I just think it’s weird when it’s over. I’m not really jealous, I just don’t want to know. You know?”

“I do.”

“Are you hungry?” she asks. “I can start the pasta now if you are.”

“Oh, I’m hungry,” I reply, and watch as she glances up and her eyes widen. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been this hungry.”

She frowns, and I immediately know that I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Are we not on the same page, Ri? Because you’ve been sending out some pretty strong sexy signals.”

“We’re on the same page,” she says, and pours pasta into boiling water. “I wanted to text you about this last night when I was drunk but Kat wouldn’t let me.”

“Probably not a good idea,” I agree, and take her hand in mine, linking our fingers. “What’s up?”

“So—” She bites her lip and looks down. Her cheeks are flushed.

“No need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not,” she says, and wrinkles her nose. “Maybe I could text it to you now. It would be easier.”

“It’s like a Band-Aid, babe, just say it.”

“I just . . .” She rolls her eyes and lets out a long sigh. “Jesus, I’m a grown-ass woman. Okay, here’s the thing: I don’t do flings.”

“Okay.”

“I mean, I don’t judge those who do. My friends have in the past, and I don’t have an issue with that. To each their own.”

“Right.”

“But for me”—she points at her chest—“I don’t like it.”

She sighs as if she’s just admitted to committing murder.

“No flings.” I nod once. “Got it.”

“Do you?” She’s staring up at me with pleading eyes now. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I was hoping there was more to this explanation,” I reply.

“Okay. The one-night stand, or short-term fuck-buddy thing doesn’t interest me.”

“Well, when you put it like that, it doesn’t interest me either.”

“And you don’t live here.”

Ah.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“So, I guess the point of all of this is, I don’t know what you want.” She holds her hands up in frustration. “If you just want a fuck buddy for while you’re working in Portland, I’m not your girl. And I’m not saying we have to get married next week, because that’s just crazy.”

“But there should be something in between,” I finish for her, and she smiles softly.

“Exactly.”

“Well, let me say this. I don’t know where this might go later, but I am not simply interested in fucking you and leaving in a few weeks without looking back. You intrigue me, Riley, and this hasn’t happened in a very long time for me.”

“It’s complicated,” she says. “We live in different cities and you travel a lot.”

“Yes, geography isn’t on our side,” I reply with a smile. I reach out and cup her cheek in my palm. “I am not psychic. I don’t know how either of us will feel in a few weeks. I do know that today I’m enjoying your company very much. You make me laugh, you make me think. And you make me so fucking horny my teeth ache.”

“Those are all nice things,” she whispers.

“So no, I don’t want a fling either. I want to get to know you better.”

“That would be nice.”

I grin and lean in to brush my lips over hers. “And I think our sex timeline just changed.”

“What? Why?” Her eyes widen again in panic.

“Because this isn’t a sprint, sweetheart. It’s a marathon. There’s no hurry.”

“Damn it,” she grumbles, and loads our plates full of steaming food. “Okay. I guess we can just eat, then. Can we at least make out later?”

“Well, duh.”



I fucking hate today. It’s Monday, and everything that can possibly go wrong, is. Not to mention stuff I haven’t even thought about.