Pretty Pink Ribbons (A Touch of Fate 2)

“You don’t even know me anymore.” Except she does. I haven’t changed much and I bet she still knows all the important things.

“I don’t see it that way.” She shakes her head, smiling wistfully. “Sure, there are things about the two of us that have changed, but the one thing that has stayed constant and true are my feelings for you. They haven’t wavered—not once.”

Both tenderness and doubt fill me, and I hang my head. “I don’t know what to say, Laney,” I reply gently. “This is a lot to take in.” I look up and Laney nods, then nudges me backward until my butt hits the counter. I go willingly . . . of course I do.

“Do you believe me?” she asks, hope in her eyes. “Do you believe that I lied to protect you? Even if you don’t agree with it, do you believe it?”

“I want to believe it.” She nods, accepting my answer. And it’s true, I do want to believe her . . . and I think I do. It’s just a lot to take in, and even if I do believe her, does that change anything? Can we ever be more than friends again?

Laney’s other hand trails up my neck, sending a shiver straight down my spine. Christ, her touch is amazing. I’ve been touched by a lot of women over the years—more than I’d like to count—but none of them compare to Laney.

“Will you close your eyes for a second?” she asks, her eyes trained on my mouth. Oh no. No, no, no. I’m not sure I can handle this. Laney was always my addiction—my drug of choice, so to speak—and if she does what I think she’s going to do, I’ll never make it. I might as well throw in the towel now and hand her my balls on a silver fucking platter.

“Why?” I whisper, hating that my body is already betraying me. Before she even answers, my eyelids drift shut and I feel her push up on her tippy-toes, the front of her body brushing lightly against mine. All of my concerns and fears quickly dissipate as if they were never even there, and instead I’m consumed with the feel of her fingers pushing into my hair and the steady beat of her heart against my chest. It feels good . . . too good. I tell myself to ignore the attraction, but it’s virtually impossible with her body squished up against me and the growing bulge between my legs.

“I don’t want you to see the girl who made a terrible mistake when she walked away. I want you to feel the woman who came back, the woman who loves you so fiercely she can feel it in her bones.” The front of her body molds against mine and a low groan rumbles from my chest. I smell the sweet scent of her breath just before her soft lips touch mine. Heaven, help me—her lips are amazing.

Aw, hell.

Her mouth is warm, supple and so much more perfect than I remember. I pull back just a fraction. My hands move to her neck, my thumbs framing her jaw, and I angle my mouth over hers. When my tongue pushes between her lips, she lets out the sexiest little moan. Then she weaves her free hand into my hair and s

queezes.

There is nothing sexier than Laney when she’s on a mission, and right now that mission is me. I would’ve expected her movements to be hurried and frantic, what with everything we’ve talked about tonight, but they’re not. Her mouth is moving lazily against mine, and if my eyes were open, I’m certain they’d roll straight back into my head. She pulls back all too soon, pupils dilated. “Better than I remember,” she whispers, running her fingers over her swollen lips. I smile, loving that I made an impression and not at all because I’m a cocky little shit.

She pushes away from the counter with a satisfied grin and turns away from me. My hand snaps out, catching her wrist before she gets too far. She stops, looking at me over her shoulder.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask.

Her satisfied grin turns into a mischievous smirk. She pulls loose from my grip and saunters back toward me, not stopping until she’s invaded every bit of my personal space. Which, of course, I don’t mind at all. If there is anyone I’d want in my personal space, it’s this girl.

She rests her hands on my chest and tilts her face to mine. “I’ve got to clean this kitchen up,” she says with a smirk. I look around and see that she’s right. This place is a disaster. The sink is full of dirty dishes and she’s managed to sprinkle flour on almost every surface of the kitchen, in addition to the chunks of dough scattered around the floor.

“I’ll help you clean,” I offer, not quite ready to say goodnight. She shakes her head and grips my shirt in her hands. “What do you mean no?”

“We’ve had a long night,” she says. I nod. She’s got that right. “We’ve successfully hashed out—”

I shush her with a finger to her lips and her eyes widen in amusement. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore. It’s over. I’m ready to move past it.” She grins behind my fingers and it’s infectious. Christ, how I’ve missed her.

“So where does this leave us?” she asks when I drop my hand. Isn’t that the million dollar question? Unfortunately, I’ve never been good at any sort of game show, and I have absolutely no idea what the answer is.

I shrug. “I’m not sure. I know I want us to be friends.” And maybe more than that . . . someday.

“Then that’s where we’ll start, as friends.” A tiny part of me had been hoping she would keep pushing me for more because I know that, despite my loud bark, I never would’ve bit. I‘d have given in to her in a heartbeat. But this is good too. I like this. I’m glad I found her here tonight, and I’m really glad we got to talk and hash things out. I already feel lighter, like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders—a weight that I’ve been hauling around with me for the past eight years. It’s an amazing feeling.

Bending forward, I kiss her cheek then trail my lips to her ear. “Friends,” I whisper, noticing the goose bumps that pop up on her neck just before I walk past her toward the door.

“Hey, boss?” I turn around and look at her. Her bangs fall into her eyes and she pushes them away from her face.

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to need off every other Friday starting tomorrow.” She’s no longer smiling; in fact, she looks a little nervous. I want to ask her why she needs off, but something inside of me says to let it go. Judging by the strained look on her face, I’m going to go with my gut and trust that if it’s something important or serious, she’ll tell me when she’s ready. Plus, I don’t want to push it. We’ve already come so far tonight and I want to end it on a good note.

“That’s not a problem.” She nods jerkily and I ignore the sinking feeling that is taking place in the pit of my stomach. “So I’ll see you Monday?”

“See you Monday.”

“YOU LOOK LIKE HELL, bro.” Mason slaps my back, pushing past me to grab a chip from the bowl on the table. My best friend, Harley, decided to have an impromptu barbeque and so here I sit at her kitchen table on a Sunday afternoon with her adorable son, Max. “And you just got pummeled in Connect Four by a five-year-old.”