Page 96 of Everything But Mine

She intertwines our fingers through her hair—skin sticky with gelato.

“This is not just about the baby, Eric.” She swallows. “You said I’m it for you. You’re it for me.”

I don’t move. Not yet. I want to savor the way her words reach inside of me. But I know this is our moment. Eyes aren’t on us, she isn’t leaving or angry, and I’m her choice.

I lean into her with reverent slowness. We’ve kissed before, but there’s respect for what this means that’s never been here before. She leans in toward me, eyes flicking to my mouth, then back up. I echo the movement, taking my time. There’s no urgency. Just the gravity of everything we’ve carried. The quiet ache of letting go of the past if our lips were to meet in these next few seconds.

And they do when I take the lead because I have a right to want. My lips want hers, slow and sure without boundaries or performance. I press a kiss against her lips before nipping at the seam of her mouth. Her lips part, tongues wrap against each other, languidly in a mutual surrender that makes my heart stutter. I kiss her deeper, our tongues gliding, curling, tasting. The rhythm is both new and remembered, like we’re choosing each other because of who we are rather than in spite of what we’ve done.

There’s still heat in our kiss, though. Her legs slip over my lap, drawing me into her. The shape of her outer thigh presses against my crotch, my cock thickening against the zipper. I pull her into me, searching for the last sliver of space between us and willing it closed.

This slow, slick drag of tongue against tongue is a declaration. We’re kissing our way into each other’s souls. And I want my fucking name branded on hers. When we part, I rest my forehead against hers, rolling it lightly. I don’t say a word. Just gently squeeze her to me.

The tears track down her cheeks—fuck—and panic grips me.

“Sweetheart,” I say gently. “What’s wrong?” My voice is raw. I’m terrified she regrets it. That I somehow said too much, or gave too little. “Did I—did I not do a good job?”

Her mouth parts a fraction, then shakes her head and kisses me again. The kiss is all her this time, deep and sure, and I can taste the salt of her tears. Maybe some of them are mine. When Amanda pulls away, she continues to give me quick pecks rather than languid tongue swirls.

“Eric, let’s go home.” Her tone is demanding, but her eyes catch mine, tentative, worried I’ll pull back.

I palm her arms, rubbing up and down her biceps before I nod. Her smile in response is lopsided, a flash of teeth when she licks her lips. I need to tell her the only things that’s left to say—one last failure from my end to unveil to her.

With one more lingering kiss, flushed cheeks, and glistening eyes, Amanda excuses herself to the bathroom. I lean back into the bench and scrub at my face, gathering the wetness around my eyes. I hold onto the memory of her kiss, her taste on my lips. I pull out my phone, thumb hovering for a second before I let myself share this.

Eric

Man, I just kissed Amanda. I think we’re happening.

The response comes almost immediately.

Diego

About damn time. Also… I’m proud of you. You deserve this.

I smile at the device while I palm the center of my chest. A jumble of words rushes through as I rehearse a confession about the failures of my body. In the thick of it, I realize the words I choose don’t matter. Honesty does.

There’s a tap on the table. I look up, expecting to see Amanda.

Fucking Daray. He stands in front of me, shirtless and slick with sweat. His joggers sit low enough on his hips that the waistband of his underwear is showing. His smile pulls at one corner of his mouth, while his bulked-up frame leans over me, blocking the light.

“Well, that was really lovely.” He tilts his head back in the store’s direction, sandy blonde hair flipping with the movement. “Taking my leftovers out on a cheap-ass date?”

I stand, he may be wider, but I’m much taller, and not fucking intimidated by him. “What do you need, Daray?”

He’s got this gleam in his eyes, and he’s almost twitching with nervous energy, like there’s something he’s dying to get off his chest.

“Do I need anything?” He smirks, shrugging. “Just because I dumped that piece of ass doesn’t mean I don’t care if her rebound is treating her well. I mean, she’s clearly heartbroken. Making decisions she’ll regret.”

I tell myself it helps nobody if I punch the smirk right off his face. I inhale deeply, forcing my hands to stay loose at my sides. “Does her kissing me look anywhere near the way her kissing you felt?” I keep my expression flat, voice even. “Because I’ve seen her kiss you before, and I’m not sure you’ve got the rebound thing right.” I tilt my head. “You said it yourself. It was always about me.” I know I shouldn’t say it, but he got firsts that should’ve been mine, and I want him to know I’m reclaiming every single one. I curl my hands into fists at my side. “From where I’m standing, you look like the decision she regrets.”

“Amanda’s glowing.” He’s gritting the words through his smirk now. “Pregnancy looks good on her.” A malicious gleam shines brighter in his eyes, just for a second. Then, he tilts his head. “Hey, have you heard of Max’s new girl at all?” He gives me a second to nod, but I don’t. “Cute little thing. Swallow tattoo on her clavicle. Right here.” He taps the spot on his sweaty skin. “She has this story. It’s sad, really, about this guy. Dude she met at a bar. He’s sweetly in love with some girl. Keeps going on and on about Amanda this, Amanda that.” He shrugs, cruelty coming to him easily. “Didn’t keep the guy from fucking her before Max was in the picture, mind you. So much for being in love with her, right?” He gestures with his hand, fingers loose at the movement, before his top lip pulls in a derisive smile. “But when it came down to it? The dude couldn’t finish the job.” He punctuates each word with a tap of his fingers on the table. “Couldn’t even come.”

The blood drains from my face, and my shoulders draw in. The space between my ribs tightens as I struggle to pull breaths in while I’m left with one of the people I despise the most, exposing something so shameful about myself.

“Best part of it?” His hand goes to my shoulder, pulling me in. His deodorant is strong enough to choke on. His touch makes my skin crawl. “Max showed her some wedding pics. Keith’s wedding. Group shots. Real candid.” He leans into my ear, and I’m powerless to push him away. “And, surprise, the guy was there.” He pulls back and meets my stare straight on. “So tell me, fucker, how’s that kid yours if you won’t shoot cum?”

I keep my expression neutral, hands fisting in my pockets.