Page 82 of Life’s Too Short

I loved that he had a key to my apartment. Not just so he could come in and save me from the ceiling fan or do unannounced birthday cleanings, but because I loved that there were no closed doors between us. Not really. Not physically or otherwise. He knew everything there was to know about me. He knew about my shitty family—he even knew I was worried I might be sick. And here he was anyway.

When he got the door open, he carried me to the sofa, turned, and set me down.

“All right,” he said. “What do you want to show me?”

“Sit,” I commanded, tugging at the pocket of his pants.

He smiled and sat next to me, and I reached for the lamp to turn off the lights. A hundred glowing stars beamed down on us from the ceiling.

“Wow,” he breathed.

“I know, right?” I turned to him in the dark. “Did you ever have these growing up?”

He laughed a little. “Yeah. I think they were still up there in my old room at my mom’s house right up until they sold it.”

“Why do grown-ups stop doing things like this?” I asked, lolling my head to look back at the ceiling. “Why do we forget?”

“It’s not very sophisticated. I think I’d have some explaining to do if I brought a woman home and this was the ceiling in my bedroom.”

“Oh my God. I would love if a man brought me home and this was the ceiling in his bedroom. I’d be way more excited to have sex with him.”

I could feel him look at me. “Really? You think these are available on Amazon Prime?”

I giggled. “Just so you know, I’m not having sex with you just because I come over and you have glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling.”

“Is there anything you will have sex with me for? I’d like to get started on it.”

I laughed. Well, that was flirty. Not his usual MO. He never said stuff like this to me.

He was kidding, of course.

I wished he weren’t.

He looked back to the stars. “If this view had a soundtrack, what do you think it would be?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I feel like there’d probably be a pretty epic saxophone solo. A little jazz break in the middle?”

He laughed. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”

I shrugged. “My inner monologue is like a hundred open tabs. You should hear the things I don’t say.” Then a mischievous smile crept across my face. “Adrian?”

“Yes?”

“Can I touch your six-pack?”

He snorted. “What?”

I turned on the light and blinked at him innocently. “I’m serious. I’ve never touched one before and yours is really nice. It’s sorta on my bucket list.”

He laughed. “Sure?”

I clapped excitedly and he lifted the bottom of his shirt and sat back into the sofa. I tucked my legs under me and bit my lip, looking down at his body.

A trail of hair descended down into the top of his pants. I don’t know why, but this was even hotter than the abs.

I held my breath as I started brushing my fingers over his stomach, tracing along the ridges of his muscles. Then I flattened my palm and ran it over his warm skin. I practically shuddered from the contact.

I’d never been this attracted to someone. Ever. And it wasn’t just physical—it was everything. I loved his steadiness and confidence, his gentleness with Grace. He was generous and kind and protective of the people he cared about. He was intelligent and funny and loyal—and he made me want to do things to him.