Page 144 of These Secret Years

“We’re gonna work on your snuggle game.”

His brows furrow.

“Specifically, little spoon.”

“Little spoon?”

“Yeah. You need to learn how to be the little spoon.”

“Why?”

I keep my answer simple. “Because I’ll sleep better.”

“I can be a little spoon,” he says with some defiance.

Hm. I’m not so sure about that as it involves him having his back to me and my arms around him.

“And for the record, I’m not that little. Just—in comparison to you.”

It’s true. Sullivan isn’t so little anymore. He’s only two inches shorter than I am, and all our workouts have really filled out his chest, thighs and ass. He’s a goddamn snack, and being the big spoon will test my self control a lot, but I need for him not to just say he trusts me, but actually trust me, and in my big, dumb jock brain, this seems like a good first step.

“It’s a cuddling position. Not a commentary on your size.”

He rolls his eyes. “I know that. And sure. Sounds fun. Is that all?”

“Depends. If you’re really good at it right from the jump, I might need to give you something more challenging. You know, so you don’t get sick of me.”

“What would the next thing be?”

Admittedly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead, so I use his old trick. “What do you think it should be?”

His face falls, but he says lightly, “I’d really like to be able to kiss you for more than two seconds without having a fucking panic attack.”

I’d like that too, but I sigh and say instead, “We’ll just start with little spoon.”

He looks at me, unblinking, and says exactly what I need to hear. “I’m really glad you’re here.”

“Me too.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

SULLIVAN

Letting Knight hold me from behind is much, much easier with all the lights on. Or in the daylight. It’s a sunny apartment, and the weather this March has been mild, so the place is very well-lit during the day.

I make it less than five minutes the first time we try it on the couch before turning over and putting some space between us. I reacquaint myself with his eyes, his face in general. I put my hand on his chest to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat. I weather the humiliation of his follow-up question, “How was that?”

And I answer honestly, “Maybe I do suck at this.”

“Maybe we should put on a movie.”

I shake my head. “Music.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“You pick. Something that gives big spoon little spoon.”

It takes him a minute and some messing around on his phone before the Beatles start blaring from the bluetooth speaker, and he turns the volume down. I groan at the song. “This is like—beginner Beatles.”