Page 211 of The Art of Almost Losing It
“What?”
“It was raining, and we both ducked in. You dropped your coffee when I ran into you.”
I can see it—him in the rain, the smell of the books.
“Yeah, and then you insulted the hockey smut I was buying, and I told you only serial killers read autobiographies of the Founding Fathers.”
“Dani, no. I recommended a better translation ofAnna Kareninato you.” He brushes his fingers lightly through my hair.
“No, you didn’t. I read you a passage from the smut book. You said, ‘Actually, you know, that does sound better,’ and—”
“And then I took you out for coffee when the rain stopped. You got a caramel latte. Because that’s your favorite.”
“It is my favorite, and you guessed it correctly.” I’m lost in his eyes.
“That’s our story. That’s how we met. That’s when we fell in love.”
“Yeah.” I smile at him, smile so wide my cheeks hurt. “That’s how we fell in love.”
It’s late,basically the next morning, when we collapse on the big king bed in the fancy hotel suite I booked for us.
Graham’s jacket is thrown to the side, and I pick drunkenly at the knot of his tie.
“Dani.” He leans in and kisses me again.
“Do you seriously want…” I trail off, not believing it’s actually real now. “To be my boyfriend for real?”
“I already bought tickets to that garden party.” He kisses me as he shrugs off his dress shirt.
“The one in April that’s going to be hot and suck and we’ll have to watch polo and get sunburnt?”
“I’ll buy you a nice hat.”
“I look terrible in hats.”
“I’ll fuck you in a field of flowers wearing nothing but a hat.”
“That’s after my brother’s wedding,” I remind him in a whisper.
“I know. I want to be here after your brother’s wedding. With you.”
I’ll never get tired of him kissing me—the way his mouth feels against mine, the way he cups my face, his tongue in my mouth as he kisses me deeply, like he’s been starving for me.
I never thought anything would feel better than his tongue on my pussy, but feeling him smile against my mouth?
“Geez, you could make a girl fall in love with you, kissing her like that,” I gasp.
He looks startled for a moment then hisses when I grab his belt.
“I want you so bad,” he whispers. “You like sex now, don’t you?”
He shoves me down on my back on the bed, kissing me long and deep. “I turned you into a little slut.”
“All I can think about is getting fucked by you.” I lean up to kiss him, but he jerks away, taunting me. I grab his neck, kissing him because I can, because he’s my boyfriend now, and I can kiss my own damn boyfriend.
His pants are off. I stroke my hands over his skin, feeling the muscles ripple underneath. He flips us over.
“I thought I told you I don’t like it when you wear panties.”
