Offensive Behavior

On another skating pass she bent her knees to the floor and they connected. She took him inside in halting increments, holding off that moment when they’d crash together, teaching him angry would never last if they could have this unwinding, unwrapping, full sensory stripping of everything but their most essential selves.

Reid shook beneath her, drawing her knees higher against his sides, his breathing short and hard, his head thrown back. Without warning he hauled her tight to his chest and flipped them. On his knees and one hand, keeping them joined, he held her body suspended off the ground while he eased out and thrust back in. Though she clung, she could’ve slid from his grasp, though she cried out, he knew what she wanted, more and more and more again, until everything inside her curled tight, primed and blasting wide, when she felt him shudder through his release. Only then did

he lay her down, snatching the pillow he’d used to the floor for their shoulders and heads, laying his body by her side, kissing her through the comedown, till his eyes closed and he slipped toward sleep.

That’s when she really played mean.

“No, you don’t.” She shoved at him. He’d imprisoned her with a heavy leg. “We have sights to see.” A new day to start to learn each other again.

He grunted and swiped at her with a lazy paw, trying to get her to stop wriggling about. “I’m trashed, Flygirl. Gotta give me five.”

“I’m starving, if you don’t let me up, our naked skeletal remains could be found by the next tenants.”

He laughed but draped his arm over her. “Five minutes.”

Could poke him. He was vulnerable around the ribcage. Could mess with his eyebrows, rub the fur the wrong way, or shout-whisper in his ear or, she reached down and wrapped her hand around him and his eyes snapped open—or that.

“Hi there,” she quipped.

“You want round two?”

“I’d like to get off the hard floor.”

“Anything else?”

That’s when it hit her. She’d never loved a man enough to hate him so much. With Dalton, it never turned to hate because life got hateful around them. They’d held each up until even that was destructive. With every man between Dalton and Reid, she never waited around long enough to feel anything worth fighting for.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

She burrowed into Reid’s arms, clutching him, tucking her face into his neck. “I’m going to need you to keep needing me.”

He rolled her, bringing her body over his. “I need you more ways than I can count. Thought that would make me weak. Makes me see how closed off I was, what a narrow life I lived before you. Don’t want you to leave me when we go home. Move in with me, Flygirl?”

Her first thought was yes. Yes, that’s what she wanted. Her second was Cara.

“Cara can take over the spare room. I don’t mind. Not like I’m starved for space. She can park her sewing machine beside my desk. Would that work for you?”

It would work if Cara wanted it to, but it worked on Zarley’s softened emotions like a scalpel, carving Reid’s initials on her heart. She nodded into his neck, fingers caressing his hairline.

“Is that a yes, you’ll move in?”

It was a yes kissed to his jaw, a yes kissed to his cheekbone, a yes to the middle of his forehead and an absolutely, yes, yes, yes, kissed wet to his mouth.

There was a quite a bit more fooling around before they got off the floor, showered, ate, dressed, talked over her performance last night and got moving. They walked along the Seine, content to hold hands and peer into the little stalls selling books and postcards and tourist tack. Lunchtime saw them at the Eiffel Tower.

She made him promise not to jump. He made them take the elevator instead of the stairs to the top deck, pleading lack of sleep and hunger, and hunted out a corner of relative privacy where he could kiss her till her head spun.

After that it was food and window shopping and being grateful they’d come through the awfulness of last night.

Early evening footsore, they staggered into a bistro for dinner. They drank white wine, ate beef, and Zarley ate clafouti for dessert. Everything about being in Paris made her hungry, but if they stayed too long it was possible she’d put on weight for the first time in her life.

“Would you still love me if I was fat?”

“The question is do I love you after you destroyed my shirt?” He studied her as if considering new information. “There were only four of those in the world. Dev sacrificed his to a small kitchen fire. Sarina refused to wear hers because we only had one size made and it was basically a dress on her.” He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Her brother mows the lawn in it. Owen has the last remaining original Plus Better Together t-shirt in captivity.”

“Did you just invalidate my question by asking me another one?”

“Why, yes, I believe you caught me out there.” He held his wine glass up to her and she clinked it. He took a sip. “Hard to imagine you fat.”