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“Let’s go,” he said, heading for the stairs.
I stood as he grazed by me, the scent of his cologne filling my head. “Greer, wait.”
He kept walking and shook his head from side to side. “Not now. I need to run.”
I jogged down the stairs after him. “So do I. But wait, goddamn it.”
He stopped and spun around, heat in his gaze. “What do you want from me?” He raised his arms out to the side and looked as frustrated as I felt. “You want to embarrass me more? Is that it? I’ve already admitted how I feel about you, and I know I hurt you. What else do I have to do? Beg for your forgiveness?”
I don’t know how long we stood there, looking at each other. Time could have stood still, and I wouldn’t have cared. This was the most honest moment we’d ever had. He glared at me as I stared at him—enamored just like I was when I was twenty-two.
“You know what? Fuck you, Austin. And grow the fuck up, would you? You’re not a kid anymore.”
“You’re right, I’m not. But I also don’t quite trust you yet.”
He turned to walk away, but I couldn’t let that happen. I reached out for him and pulled him back to me. Greer’s eyes went wide at my manhandling as I pulled him closer.
Running my left hand into his now wavy hair, I wrapped my right arm around his waist and brought his body flush with mine. The lycra we both wore did nothing to hide the erections we were both sporting. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against his, both of us breathing the same air.
Greer grabbed my shirt, the fabric balled in his fists, and pulled me to him. I wanted to kiss him so badly, but not like this. Not out of anger.
“What are you doing?” he asked, the apprehension clear in his voice.
“I’m doing what I should have done a long damn time ago. I’ve spent the last two years trying to convince myself I hated you, and I’m done. So we’re stopping this asinine, juvenile shit right now.”
His breathing hitched, and he tried to pull away.
“No. Listen to me. I’m done fighting with you. We’re going to run like we planned, then come back and order some dinner. And after that, we’re going to talk about all the uncomfortable shit between us, so we don’t ruin Elizabeth’s wedding.”
Greer tilted his head back to look into my eyes. I’m not sure what he saw, but the grimace he’d worn on his handsome face relaxed some. He looked from my eyes to my mouth, then back up. I knew exactly what he wanted, because we’d waited fourteen damn years to do that.
“I’m not kissing you yet.”
He groaned, making me smile. “God, you really know how to ruin a good time,” he huffed, then tried to push out of my arms again. I held him tighter, the tingling sensation from where our overheated skin met oddly familiar.
I didn’t want to let go of him, but I needed his attention. So, I brought my right hand up to hold his face in both my hands.
Much to my relief, he didn’t let go of me and continued to hold me against him.
I turned his head to speak into his ear. “Greer,” I breathed.
A shiver ran through him as my warm breath skated along his skin. My thumbs swept back and forth over his stubbled cheeks as I held his face in my hands.
“We’re going to talk before I put my mouth on you, because when I slide my tongue into your mouth for the first time, I don’t intend to stop.”
His breathing had sped up as his cock pulsed along mine. I could feel his heart beating against my own as we both tried to gain control of our need for one another. He swallowed audibly and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That’s probably good.”
A laugh bubbled up from deep inside my chest where I’d kept my feelings for him locked away. The pressure I’d been holding inside my body eased off. “And one more thing.”
He looked up into my eyes, and I could see the apprehension as he waited for me to destroy this moment. “It’s my turn to be in charge. We’re going to take this slow. One conversation at a time.”
He blinked those long lashes at me and nodded slowly before pulling away. “Fourteen years wasn’t slow enough for you?”
I smiled, now dying to kiss that sassy mouth. “You’ve got jokes now?” A new feeling I couldn’t begin to describe filled a hollow place in my chest.
“Someone has to.”
When he released my T-shirt from his death grip, he tried to smooth down the wrinkled fabric. Stepping back, his fingers lingered on my shirt. “Time to run.”
