Page 59 of Worth the Shot

Her fingers toy with the hair at the back of my neck in the most unhurried and lazy way and all I can think is mine.

She’s mine.

We stay like that for a long time. The kind of long that feels like a lifetime and a second all at once. Eventually she shifts, just a little, lifting her head. Her eyes meet mine and they’re intoxicating, dazed and so fucking beautiful as she says, “We should…probably start the movie.” Her voice is shot and whispery, the kind of voice you only get after kissing someone you never want to stop kissing.

I grin, my thumb grazing her jaw. “Yeah. Probably.”

But when she moves to slide off my lap, I tighten my hands at her hips, stopping her. “Stay,” I say quietly. And she does.

We adjust just enough to face the TV. She’s tucked against my chest, her legs curled over mine and my arms wrapped around her waist like they’ve always belonged there. The opening credits roll, and she settles deeper into me, the blanket draped over us, her head on my shoulder. I kiss the top of her head and she lets out the cutest, tiniest sigh I’ve ever heard.

Five minutes into the movie, I steal another kiss. A soft one on her temple. She pretends not to notice, but the smile she tries to hide gives her away.

Ten minutes in, I press one to her cheek.

Twenty minutes in, her jaw.

Every time, she leans into it.

Every time, she melts a little more.

By the halfway point, she isn’t pretending anymore. She just turns her face into my neck and whispers, “Keep doing that.” So I do. Because I’m pretty sure this is it, this is how we begin.

And I’m never going back.

Chapter Twenty-One

Delaney

I hate how right he was about the blanket thing, but straight from the source is way better. Our bodies are so entangled right now I feel like a human pretzel. The butterflies in my stomach have fully migrated lower, and at this point I’m pretty sure I need to change my pants—and definitely not because I’ve peed myself.

I’ve been lying here in blinding bliss for hours, and honestly? You’d have to pry this man from my cold, dead fingers. Being wrapped up in him feels like plugging myself into a charger after my battery has been at 2% for years and suddenly, BOOM, I’m alive again.

The movie ends and the credits roll but I couldn’t tell you a single thing that happened and, honestly, it doesn’t matter. Because I’m home. My head is on Brennan’s chest, his arms around me in a way that feels possessive but intimate, and I never want to go without those things ever again.

I lift my head to look at him, and he immediately finds my lips, kissing me softer this time like he’s memorizing me. Warmth pools low in my stomach again, the same warmth that’s been torturing me all night. I want every inch of this man.

I reel it in and force myself to sit up, feeling buzzed on something that feels a lot like…never mind. Not yet. I can’t go there.

“Thank you,” is all I manage, yet again, because it’s safe, it’s true, and it’s exactly what I need to say before I start ripping off clothes.

He snickers and grabs my hand, holding it like the lack of touching might actually kill him. “And what exactly are you thanking me for, Laney?”

“Everything? The movie. The hospitality. All of it.”

“Hospitality?” he repeats with a snort, and I shove his shoulder. “You’re welcome, of course, for the hospitality.”

I check my phone and realize it’s getting late. I’m on Luca duty tomorrow, and if I stay any longer we are absolutely rounding all the bases.

“I should probably get going,” I say, hating every word. “It’s late.”

I get up to grab my things and glance over to see him standing in the middle of the living room. The fire is casting this amber glow over him, dancing across his skin like it’s showcasing every reason my ovaries are currently training for a triathlon.

Then he takes off his sweatshirt.

Casually.

Like he doesn’t know he’s making me rethink every moral, boundary, and coherent thought I’ve ever had.