One Last Time (Loveless Brothers 5)

It’s more abstract: organized by mood, feeling, sense. The first time I met his family is grouped with when he gave me a key to his college apartment: times when his home was mine. A prom photo and a hotel key, together. The coaster from Fall Fest backed by a two-page almost-pornographic drawing of us, horizontal on a couch. All that’s visible is one nipple, but it’s clear what’s going on.

Seth understands. He knows, intuitively, laughs at some of the pages, runs his fingers over others like he wants to touch what’s inside them. He teases me sometimes and kisses me sometimes and when he reaches the last page I’m curled into him, still on my couch, my head in the curve of his neck.

It’s the label from a bottle of Frog Holler Cider, pulled off and stuck to the page. On it there’s a picture of the barn and an apple tree, and on the page underneath I drew the rest of the scene: hills behind, stars above. In the distance, two tiny figures holding hands.

“That’s the night I knew it could work,” I say, softly. I don’t know if it’s the most romantic thing, but it’s the truest thing.

“I knew before that,” Seth says, pulling me in closer.

I nuzzle against his neck.

“No, you didn’t,” I say.

“I did. I knew in the car.”

I’m laughing. So is he.

“No, you didn’t,” I say again.

“I had a vision,” Seth says. “Of us in twenty years, my hair going gray, and you in the passenger seat with a giant map arguing with me about directions. And I knew.”

“What, that we could argue?”

“That I loved you,” he says, the rumble of his voice reverberating through me. “And that whatever happened, I’d fight for it.”

Tears prick at my eyes, and I bite my lips together. Take a deep breath.

“I love you too,” I say, and we kiss again.Chapter Fifty-ThreeSethThe sliding glass door in the living room opens and closes again, and a few seconds later, Delilah comes back into the kitchen with the plastic container of kibble.

“Nothing just yet, but I think I tempted them,” she says. “Once they’re in front of their new digs, they’ll be curious and check it out, right?”

I rinse the dish soap from a pan, then stack it on her dishrack.

“Maybe they need better treats to tempt them,” she muses, leaning back against the counter next to the sink. “Do raccoons like filet mignon?”

I give her a look, trying not to smile, and wash a spatula.

“What about chocolate truffles?” she goes on, pure mischief in her voice.

I take a deep breath, shut the water off, and reach for the towel, determined not to be baited.

“Oh! Lobster!” she exclaims. “Everyone likes lobster, right?”

“They’re varmints!” I finally say, despite myself.

Delilah laughs, and I toss the towel onto the counter opposite her.

“They eat trash,” I tell her, though I’m grinning. “And they’re a damn nuisance.”

She leans forward, grabs the front of the button-down flannel shirt I’m wearing, and pulls me toward her.

“You’re a nuisance,” she says.

“I’m a nuisance who just did the dishes while you frolicked with the local fauna,” I tell her, anchoring my hands on the edge of the counter.

“Well, the dream is to go full Snow White and have the animals do the dishes while we lounge around eating ice cream,” she teases. “Besides, do I even need to remind you who built the raccoon castle in the first place?”

“I’m starting to regret not just getting you a necklace,” I tease back.

“Sure you are,” she says, then lets my shirt go.

She slides her hands down my torso, hooks two fingers under the waistband of my jeans, tugs lightly, the backs of her fingers cool against warm skin.

My whole body shivers.

“Stay over?” she says.

I lean in and kiss her. She’s soft and warm and opens her mouth under mine, her hands going under my shirt, cool against my skin. I get goosebumps that have nothing to do with temperature.

“But I didn’t even bring a toothbrush,” I tell her, and I can feel her smile.

“Don’t tell me that you didn’t think beyond the varmint palace to the makeup sex,” Delilah says. “What, you didn’t use a flow chart?”

I hook my fingers through the belt loops on her pants, tug at her slightly, press myself against her, cock already stirring.

“One, flow charts are for decision making, not planning,” I say. “And two, I just wanted you to say yes. I didn’t even think about what came after.”

“How could I resist a home befitting Terry, Larry, and Jerry?” she asks, laughing.

And then, softer: “How could I resist you?”

“I’m sure there’s a thousand ways.”

“And yet, none of them interest me.”

Her hand on the back of my neck, pulling me down, my mouth onto hers. They way it feels when we kiss, like something inside me locking into place.