The Beauty of Us (Fusion #4)

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I’d really like to spend as much time with you this morning as I can.”

I glance back again. His face is relaxed, his eyes happy, and I can’t bring myself to say no.

Because the truth is, I’m not ready to say good-bye either.

I have it bad.

“I’d like for you to come with me.”

“Excellent.” He kisses my shoulder once more and then leaves the bed. I pull the sheet around me, enjoying the warmth from him against my naked body while he gets some things together and dresses. It doesn’t take him long, so I finally get up and pull my clothes from yesterday back on.

The drive to my house is quiet. It’s not an uncomfortable silence, just two people still trying to wake up feeling comfortable in the other’s company.

It’s easier than I’ve ever known.



The shower felt like heaven. What is it with everything in the world feeling better after you’ve had some pretty impressive sex?

I don’t know, but I want to keep doing it.

I’ve just dried off and am hanging up my wet towel when Trevor comes through the bathroom door carrying a cup from Starbucks.

“You need this.” His eyes are pinned to mine as he hands me my drink.

“I’m going to take you up on the running-off-with-you thing,” I reply, and sip my drink, closing my eyes in happiness as the caffeine immediately hits my bloodstream. “How did you know this was my drink?”

“I’ve brought you coffee at work every morning since I’ve been here,” he reminds me. “Drink more of that.”

I’m not even self-conscious standing here naked, sipping my coffee. He’s looking me up and down now, his green eyes shining in approval. The way he freaking worshiped my body last night tells me that he has zero issues with any curves I may have.

Or may not have.

Because while my hips are curvy, I’m lacking in the boob department.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“That I could probably use a boob job,” I reply with a laugh.

“No way,” he replies. and leans in to nuzzle my neck. “You’re perfect just as you are.”

“And you’re sweet.” I kiss his cheek. “I need to get dressed.”

“Hmm.” His strong hand glides down my naked back to my ass. He pats it as he pulls away. “Okay. I also brought breakfast.”

“You’re pretty great, you know.”

He turns back and offers me a smug smile. “I know.”

Whoever was stupid enough to cheat on this man and let him go is an absolute moron.

And I’m so thankful she was.

Because I don’t plan to take even one minute of any of this for granted.

I quickly dress, twist my hair into a bun, and put on my makeup. My cup is almost empty when I walk into the living room and see Trevor in my favorite chair, bundled up in a fluffy throw blanket.

“Chilly?” I ask as he holds his hand out for me. I take it and he tugs me into his lap, wrapping me in the cocoon.

“My rental doesn’t have any throws like this. Which makes sense, they’d have to wash them after every time it’s rented. But I get cold sitting in the living room.”

“I did notice it was a bit chilly last night.” I grin when he holds a bite of coffee cake to my lips. “Of course, we heated things up fast enough.”

“Sex is absolutely better than a throw blanket,” he agrees, and takes a bite of his own cake. “How are you this morning, now that you’ve had a chance to wake up?”

“I’m fantastic,” I reply honestly. “The hot shower loosened up my muscles, and I just feel like I had a great time last night.”

“I’m glad.” He kisses my forehead and offers me another bite of cake. “This feels good too.”

“Mmm.” I bury my face in his neck and take a deep breath. He feels good. I can’t help but wonder if this is too good to be true. Is there going to be another shoe to drop?

I mean, maybe he’s been to jail. Or there’s a warrant out for his arrest. Or he likes green beans.

I smirk and kiss his warm skin.

I need to stop being so cynical and believe that there really are nice men out there, and I finally found one.

Please don’t break my heart.

His arms tighten around me in a hug.

“We should go,” he whispers.

“I know.” But I don’t move. I just stay here, in his arms, soaking him in. Just for one more moment.





Chapter Eight





Trevor


“I just sniped him,” I say into my headset, and take a sip of my water. It’s the first Wednesday of the month, which means it’s group night. I get together with five other gamers to play and talk.

I’ve been playing with this same group for close to fifteen years, through two different game systems. We’re friends, and we don’t bring others into our fold, unless it’s one of their children who wants to play for a bit.

“Let’s take a break, guys,” Angie says. “I need to hit the bathroom and grab a snack.”

“Good timing,” Scott says. I set my controller in my lap and lean back, taking another sip of my beer. “How are you feeling, Smitty?”

“Good as new,” Smitty replies. That’s not his real name, it’s his gamer name. And he had a heart attack last year, which sent us all into a tailspin. “My wife has me on a strict diabetic diet, so I don’t enjoy food enough to actually eat it anymore.”

“Good,” I reply with a laugh. “We don’t need a repeat of last year.”

“Agreed,” Spade, another alias name, says. “My wife’s dad had a heart attack last month. I feel like everyone’s dropping like flies.”

“I’m not dropping,” Smitty says.

“I’m back, guys,” Angie says, her voice breathy from rushing. “Sorry, what did I miss?”

“Smitty feels good,” I reply.

“Good,” Angie replies.

“Hey, Trev, how’s Riley?” Scott asks.

“She’s great.”

“Wait, who’s Riley?” Angie asks.

“She’s a woman I’ve been seeing,” I reply as the game starts again.

“I haven’t heard you talk about her before.”

“It’s pretty new,” I reply with a scowl. “And I don’t tell you guys everything.”

“Really?” Scott asks, with sarcasm dripping through the line. “Good because I don’t want to know everything.”

“I do,” Angie says. She sounds pretty pissed off, which makes me raise a brow. “Where the hell did you meet her?”

“In Portland,” I reply shortly.

“You’re in Portland? Or did you meet her online?”

“Hey, why the hostility?” Trent, the sixth in our group, asks. He’s the quietest of all of us.

“I’m not hostile.” Angie sniffs. “I just want the scoop.”

“I’m in Portland working on a show,” I reply, not that I have to explain myself to Angie or anyone else. “She’s one of the co-owners of the restaurant I’m working in.”

“Oh.”

“You okay, Ange?” Scott asks. A text from Scott comes through my phone. We often text back and forth, privately discussing what’s happening in the group.

What’s up with her?



I shrug, as if he can see me, and reply. No idea.