Page 46 of Forever Then

Chapter Thirty-Seven

YOU WANNA MAKE OUT NOW?

Connor

An hour and a half later, we settle in at the bar of a Mexican restaurant in downtown Sedona. The sun still a couple of hours from dipping behind the mesa rock formations, the panoramic red desert view has us content to stay a while.

I order two margaritas from the twenty-something female bartender before she turns to Gretchen and asks for her ID.

She slides it across the bar and the bartender slides it back a second later, attention now fixed on me.

I expect her to ask for my ID as well, but instead, she simply grins and walks off to begin preparing our drinks.

Gretchen, mouth agape, turns her head on a swivel, gaze locked on the bartender’s retreating form. “Unbelievable.”

“What?”

“That bartender and I are gonna have to throw down.”

I stifle a smile. “Is that so?”

“She just checked you out right in front of me.”

“Maybe she was checking to see if she needed to card me? ”

She snorts. “You know for a former playboy, you’re very daft when it comes to recognizing when a girl is into you.”

“Is that so?”

“Is that all you say now?” Her eyes lock on me, wicked with amusement.

“Hey, you’re the one that calls me old man.” I arch a brow.

“And?”

“And maybe I look older than you.”

“ Or maybe she’s single, you’re hot, she’s not quite sure who I am to you, and she wants you to notice that she noticed you and, if you noticed her, she wants to make sure she comes off all cool and laid back like ‘See, I won’t ID you.

Wanna go back to your place?’ …you know, in case you’re single, too. ”

“But I’m not single.”

Her smile is feral and all mine.

Said bartender returns with our drinks and two menus. Gretchen’s expression turns conspiratorial as she leans across the bar. “Excuse me, miss? Can I ask you a question?”

The poor woman hums her agreement, but I don’t take my eyes off Gretchen’s profile as I pivot in my stool to fully face her.

“Why did you card me but not my boyfriend?” Yeah, she’s out for blood, but in a cute way. Her grin is all smug and adorably possessive. I can feel the bartender’s gaze flick to me before it lands back on my girlfriend.

Before she can reply, Gretchen cups one hand around her mouth, stage whispering for everyone within a ten-foot radius to hear, “Is it because he’s hot?”

This girl. One second she’s in her head, overanalyzing, and the next she’s brazen and self-assured, proudly claiming what’s hers.

She may as well have written mine in black marker across my forehead.

I’d tattoo it there permanently if she asked me to.

I’ve never been happier to let someone else own me entirely, heart and soul.

The bartender coughs, clearly uncomfortable by Gretchen’s shamelessly forward line of questioning. I can only smile at my girl as I yank Gretchen’s stool closer to rest between my knees.

A couple of awkward beats pass before I throw the bartender a lifeline and ask for some queso and guacamole.

She ambles away to put in our order as Gretchen turns to me, taking a generous sip from her margarita.

“Was I too harsh?” The arrogant tilt of her lips as she sets her glass on the counter says she’s not the least bit sorry.

“My little savage.” I grip her chin and pull her lips to mine for a quick kiss. “I only ever want to look at you, babe.” I kiss her again. “Got it?”

“Cheesy line, but okay.”

She pinches my cheek and tousles my hair before her expression neutralizes, swallowing down the humor from a moment ago.

“Thank you for knowing what I needed today.”

Confident and not the least bit ashamed about it, I use her own words from two days ago. “What else would you expect from the person who knows you better than anyone else?”

She purses her lips. “Don’t get cocky, old man.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I laugh, kissing her once more. “Today was a good day.”

Her lips smile against mine. “The best.”

Our appetizers arrive and Gretchen excuses herself to the bathroom.

As she walks away, I catch a table of dudes looking her up and down, Gretchen totally oblivious to the fact that she’s the most beautiful woman in every room.

All tan skin, long legs, black hair draped effortlessly down the middle of her back and big eyes as sweet and rich as chocolate.

And now I’m wondering what we’d look like with matching forehead tattoos.

I cut myself off the minute Gretchen ordered a second margarita. After the emotional day she had, she needed to let loose. The ever-present glass of water I refilled between each margarita was as much as I could do to keep her from drinking herself into regretting her choices this morning.

She peaked at slightly tipsy before I suggested we call it a night.

But what I now know is that slightly tipsy Gretchen equals excessively handsy Gretchen.

If I wasn’t so obsessed with the woman, I’d say I was taken advantage of last night.

After I was sufficiently groped in the elevator—no complaints from me—we weren’t two steps inside our room when she started trying to undress me.

I quickly grabbed her by the wrists, pressed them above her head against the wall, kissed her hard and told her she wasn’t allowed to touch.

Naturally, she called me a buzzkill and I told her she’d never been more beautiful. Then, I slapped her on the ass and ordered her to get ready for bed.

God , I wanted her to touch me, though. I want everything with her, but not like that.

Not when she’s not fully sober and not before she knows how much I love her.

I’ll no doubt be lusting after her until the day I die, but I don’t want our first time together to happen in a lust-riddled haze that we could wake up from tomorrow morning and wish had happened differently.

Gretchen played dirty when she put on one of my t-shirts to sleep in.

Hanging down to her upper thigh, she wore only a pair of panties underneath.

Side by side at the bathroom sink, she jutted out one hip as we brushed our teeth, our eyes unashamedly roaming over each other in the mirror.

That messy bun and those glasses almost did me in, but I held my ground.

For about thirty more seconds, that is, before she spit into the sink, rinsed her mouth, turned to me and said, “Well, if you won’t let me touch you, the least you could do is touch me. ”

Tipsy Gretchen is also no-filter Gretchen.

I smiled at her through my suds-filled mouth, toothbrush perched out the side of my lips. A second later, I spit into the sink, tossed my toothbrush aside, grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her onto the counter to give her exactly what she wanted.

After she came on my fingers, I kissed her tenderly and sent her to bed. She was fast asleep by the time I finished my shower.

I climbed under the covers and wrapped my body around hers. And, miracle of all miracles, it’s the exact same position we find ourselves in— glory be, I’m fully clothed—when the ring of her cell phone wakes us up .

Gretchen groans into my arm. I clear the hair away from her face, kissing her temple. “It’s probably your parents calling to talk to the birthday girl.”

She smiles lazily before reaching for the phone.

“Hey, Mom,” she answers, still half-asleep as she pushes herself up against the headboard.

I use the next few minutes to brush my teeth, splash my face with water and collect Gretchen’s gift from my suitcase while she talks to her parents.

“Drew’s good. He’s not here right now though.” Gift tucked behind my back, I give her a curious look and she waves her hand to say she’ll explain later. “I’ll tell him you guys said hi.”

I climb back into bed as she ends the call.

“I guess Drew never told them that he didn’t end up coming. I don’t know what to do other than pretend things are fine.” She shrugs, worry carved between her brows over thoughts of her brother back home.

“Hey,” I say.

She looks at me, features softening.

“Hi.”

A grin lifts her cheeks as she collects her glasses from the bedside table and puts them on. “Hi.”

“Happy Birthday, baby.” I set the gift wrapped in tissue paper on her lap as her eyes flicker with surprise.

“Hang on.” She moves the present back to my lap. “I need to brush my teeth first.”

“Why?”

“Because I know I’m gonna want to make out with you after.”

I give her a long once over as she settles against the doorjamb.

One hand moves the toothbrush, elbow propped on the arm she has wrapped over her middle.

Hip popped out, wearing my t-shirt and nothing else, she knows exactly how good she looks—like my sexiest fantasy and greatest accomplishment all rolled into one.

When she’s done, she bounces back into the bed and sidles up next to me. Gift back in hand, she peels back the tissue paper, her expression leveling as she moves the last bit of wrapping aside .

I wait for her to respond, but her eyes remain fixed on the front cover, fingers tracing the title.

“I saw you eyeing it at the bookstore the other day.”

“It’s too much,” she says, voice trembling.

“Fish, look at me.”

She meets my gaze, emotion warring behind the features she tries so hard to keep locked down. “I know how much this cost, Connor, and it’s too much.”

What the early edition hardback of Little Women means to her is way more valuable than the money in my bank account.

After everything she told me yesterday about the first copy I gave her all those years ago, the birthday card she’s kept, the fact that she rereads it because it reminds her of me—it means even more now.

I take her hand. “You said that the day I gave you this book the first time felt like the start of us. You asked me then if I thought your birth parents thought about you.”

A tear runs down her cheek and I catch it with my thumb.

“Look where we are now, Gretch. The same boy gifting the same book to the same girl. And I get to be the one to watch you celebrate your birthday with your birth family for the first time today.” I tap my finger on the book she now clutches to her chest. “This? It could never be too much because it’s not enough.

I’ll buy you a new copy every year if you’ll let me, to remind you of where we started. ”

Without a word, she looks at the book and then reaches across me to set it on the nightstand.

After she wipes her eyes behind the lenses of her glasses, she pushes them back up the bridge of her nose and moves to straddle me.

The look on her face a mix of affection and some sort of resolve, like she’s decided to do something, has me awaiting her next move.

My hands land on her bare thighs, her shirt having ridden up high enough for me to see the peek of white cotton panties underneath. I try not to think about all the layers of clothing that are lacking between us in this position.

She rests her forehead against mine, my face cradled in her palms. “I…um…” She hesitates, fingers fidgeting in the scruff along my j aw. Her resolve withers with each silent second that passes. “Thank you,” she finally whispers. It’s not what she was going to say, that much I know.

“You’re welcome.”

My palms run the length of her legs, up to her waist and back again. Her eyes remain closed as she tries to find her words. Or maybe the courage to say them at all.

“You wanna make out now?” I ask into the nervous silence because I just want to see her smile.

A grin tugs at her lips before she slowly lowers her lips to mine. Her arms wrap around my neck, forearms squeezing me into her chest. I brace my arms across her back, my palm splayed over her shoulder blades.

It would be so easy to take things further, to let my hands wander the miles of exposed skin she has draped around me.

She could make the first move with a single rock of her hips.

But neither of us do anything of the sort.

It’s simply two mouths in harmony with two hearts and an embrace so tight it’s hard to breathe.

She may not have said the words, but I feel them in the arms she has wrapped around me, her mouth that moves unhurriedly against mine, like she never plans on letting me go.

Like she’s in no rush because she knows as well as I do that there’s a forever ahead of us.

A forever that’s as true now as it was then.

I’m glad she didn’t say them.

Because I want— I need —to be the one to say them first.