Page 102 of IRL: In Real Life
I stood a few feet away just watching him.
He looked over his shoulder.
“What?”
I smiled. “Nothing.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I’m just looking at you.”
That got him turning fully toward me.
Then he came over, took the dish towel out of my hand though I had not realized I was even holding one, and pulled me against him.
No speech.
No warning.
Just his hands at my waist and his body fitting mine in the middle of his kitchen like he had been waiting to do that since I walked through the door.
My breath left me.
His didn’t sound much steadier.
For one second, we stayed there, chest to chest, his hands firm at my waist, my palms sliding up the front of him because there was nowhere else in the world I wanted them to be. The music changed behind us, softer and slower, something with enough ache in it to make the air feel heavier.
Micah lowered his head, but he didn’t kiss me yet.
He stopped with his mouth close to mine, close enough for me to feel his breath, close enough for my body to remember the truck and answer like we were still parked in the dark somewhere with no sense.
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
The question should have cooled me down.
It did not.
It made me softer. Hotter. Certain.
Because he was asking even though both of us already knew. He was giving me room right there in the middle of all that want, and somehow that made me want to close every inch of it.
I looked up at him and let my hands settle at his chest.
“Yes.”
His eyes searched mine for one more beat.
I gave him the truth before he could make me say it twice.
“I’m sure, Micah.”
Something in his face changed then.
Not wild.
Not careless.
Just honest.
