Page 132 of Micah

But I can't.

I won't.

Not because I don't want to.

Because I've wanted this for so damn long that rushing it now would feel like disrespecting the miracle standing in front of me.

She's here.

In my cabin.

Wearing my flannel.

Choosing me.

After everything she's been through tonight.

Everything I confessed.

She's still choosing me.

Christ.

I don't think I've ever felt like this.

Elated.

Happy.

And so turned on I might die if I don’t touch her soon.

Sloane moans into my mouth as our tongues swirl, and I swear to God, I have never tasted anything quite like her.

There's a hint of lemon-lime soda she must've had earlier, but it doesn't mask her natural flavor.

She is sweet and bright, like lemons and sunshine.

Like every good thing I've been missing without even realizing it.

I can't get enough.

I don't think I ever will.

My hands cradle her like she's something priceless.

Because she is.

She's not just the woman I've been watching from a distance.

Not just the bartender I've been inventing excuses to see.

She's become the center of my damn world somewhere along the way, and I don't even know when it happened.

All I know is that I can't imagine a version of tomorrow that doesn't have Sloane in it.

Her hands find the hem of my shirt.

My pulse kicks.