He sits and watches me tug off his socks, but doesn’t say a word. His hungry eyes eat me up as I strip out of my clothes, leaving on my bra and panties. Electricity crackles between us the way it does every time we’re within reach of each other. We’re good in bed. Our chemistry is off the charts, but I remind myself that we’re more than this. I want to be so much more than a warm body in his bed. I want to be his confidant, his best friend, the person he comes to when he’s had a rough day rather than turning to the bottle.
“Come on, big guy. Let’s go brush our teeth.”
I’m in the bathroom, halfway through my nighttime ritual when Lincoln steps into the doorway. I spit into the sink, rinse my mouth, and turn to look at him. “Everything okay?”
He takes in my toothbrush sitting next to his and my facial wash on the counter. “You have stuff in my bathroom.”
“Is that a problem?”
He takes a second to think about his answer and then shakes his head. “No. It’s not a problem.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask, watching him step up to the sink.
He makes quick work of brushing his teeth and then stops in front of me on his way out.
Curling a hand around my hip, he pulls me in and kisses my forehead. “I’m getting there.”
There are so many things I want to say to that, but I need to remember to take things slow. It’s difficult to step away from his hard, semi-naked body pressed against mine, but somehow, I manage.
I follow him down the hall, yank the covers back on the bed, and crawl between the cool sheets.
“So we are going to have sex,” he says, crawling across the mattress. His large body hovers over mine. Soft lips skim across my abdomen, along the swell of my left breast and land on my neck.
“Actually,” I say, pulling Lincoln into the crook of my arm, “we’re going to cuddle.”
“Cuddle?”
“Don’t look so surprised; we’ve cuddled before.”
“Yeah, after several rounds of sex when neither one of us can move.”
“Tonight we’re going to try something different.”
“Just cuddling. No sex.” He seems confused.
I push my fingers into his soft, brown hair. “Come on. I promise it won’t hurt a bit. Who knows, you might even like it.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
His words are so soft I barely hear them. It takes a couple of minutes, but Lincoln finally relaxes in my arms, his head nuzzled against the tops of my breasts. Draping his arm across my stomach, he pulls me in as close as he can.
“You normally don’t drink,” I say.
I can’t remember the last time I saw Lincoln inebriated. Over the years I’ve seen him drink a beer here or there while out with Rhett or at one of our Sunday family dinners, but it’s never more than one or two tops, and I’ve never seen him even slightly drunk.
There’s a rush of hot air against my skin when he sighs. “Nope.”
“But you did tonight.”
Another rush of air. “Yup.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
He’s silent for so long I have to release the breath I’ve been holding.
Just about the time my eyes drift shut, his grip on me tightens and he says, “Chloe thinks you’re my girlfriend.”
Girlfriend.