“Stop that,” I said, trying for irritable, but landing somewhere near tender.
“No,” he said easily.
“It’s not a good look on you.”
“Well, apparently I’m a good look on you if my spunk meant—”
“Don’t you even think about finishing that sentence!”
He rolled his eyes.
“You’re thinking it, aren’t you?”
“So, so much,” he said, running a hand over my bare back. His hands felt good on me. I didn’t know why I was so surprised at that.
I sighed. “Fine. You’re allowed this one time to be this way.”
“What way?”
“You know what way.”
“Blissful?”
“Is that what you call it?”
He shrugged and pulled me tighter against him. We were quiet for a little while then, each of us lost in our own thoughts. For once, that tight feeling I had whenever I was around him wasn’t there. I thought maybe we were on the same page finally, and I couldn’t wait to see where we went.
“I like this,” he said softly.
“What?”
“You and me.”
“We are pretty good together,” I agreed as I kissed his chest.
“So we’re doing this, then?”
“I think it’s a little late to be asking—”
“Sandy.”
I groaned, because there went my afterglow. It was one thing to think about feelings. It was something entirely different to talk about them out loud.
“I’m being serious.” He looked so fucking earnest that I couldn’t even make fun of him for it, what the hell.
“I know,” I said.
“Well?” He shifted so he could get a better look at me. He deposited me next to him, turning over until we were both on our sides facing each other. He let me use his arm as a pillow. His face was so close to mine, and his eyes searched me for something. I wasn’t sure what.
“Well,” I repeated.
He glared at me. That was a look I was used to. “You know what I mean.”
“I do,” I said, reaching out and running a finger over his eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”