“Babe,” I rasped, hearing the alarm on the oven.
No fucking idea how long that had been going off.
Tori collapsed back, not caring about it, and pulled me down on top of her. And I went. I sure as fuck didn’t care about anything else but this right now.
Her. Us.
I was never letting go either.
She held me close, limbs circling my back as our chests matched with racing breaths. Her fingers in my hair. Her lips moving over my ear.
“This feels like forever,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes, thinking the same. The alarm kept sounding.
Pizza was ordered an hour later and eaten with her sides—roasted potatoes, all-day green beans, and biscuits.
We tossed the burnt-up pork chops in the trash.
Chapter Twenty-one
TORI
I blinked at my bedroom ceiling as Jamie dozed beside me, his breath warm and sleep-heavy on my neck. His arm across my chest and the other under my pillow, elbow bent and fingers curled into my hair.
This feels like forever.
I exhaled a breath. Knees bending, I tug my toes into the mattress and fought the urge to squirm.
Yep. That was me. I’d said that. Those words totally crossed my lips.
Not that I didn’t mean them, because I did. It wasn’t just the afterglow of fantastic kitchen sex speaking. I really, truly, felt this thing with Jamie becoming something bigger. Outlasting and enduring. This love overwhelmed me.
I could see it next month. And deep into the winter. I could picture Jamie a year older at twenty-nine with his hair longer and messy on my pillow. I could see next summer’s sun on his skin and feel the heat of it beneath my palms.
This feels like forever.
It did. So I said it.
And he said nothing. Nada. Zip.
At least not right away anyway. And definitely not in response to the honesty pouring out of my heart.
He said get you cleaned up and pork chops are burnt—what’re we orderin’. He told me I looked sweet after I changed into the well-worn shirt of his I stole. He pulled me on top of him and held me while we watched the Orioles spank the Yankees, easy conversation flowing like it typically did.
And then Jamie passed out after murmuring Night, babe into my hair and throwing his limbs around me.
But forever? There was no talk of forever. No baby paired with some meaningful, heart-heavy look. No feelin’ it, too. None of that.
My stomach was knotted tight. I couldn’t close my eyes. I felt restless.
Crap.
This was seriously bothering me.
Carefully, so I wouldn’t wake Jamie, I slid out from underneath his arm and out of bed, then I tiptoed out of the bedroom, padded down the hallway, took the stairs, and headed for the kitchen.
Peering into the fridge, I grabbed a Pure Leaf off the shelf and a baggie of cut-up veggies. I nudged the door closed with my hip and moved to stand at the island, then I snapped into a carrot while blank-staring at the countertop.
My thoughts spiraled farther and farther into freak-out central as I chewed. I never should’ve said it. I never should’ve said anything about forever.
I should’ve just told Jamie I loved him, or that was amazing, or you’re right, I never gave him that. I had options. Great options. Fantastic options. Options that could’ve and should’ve prompted a response that had absolutely nothing to do with food or the aftermath of sex.
Instead I chose to skip a thousand steps ahead and leave Jamie behind.
My little cartoon heart curled in on itself and pouted. Then a frightening thought entered my head. What if he never caught up to me? What if Jamie stayed at the I love you now step while I waited waited waited for him, and he never wanted to move?
What if he was forever happy at his step? Oh, God …
I shoved the rest of the carrot into my mouth and twisted off the cap of my sweet tea.
I never should’ve said it. You, Tori, are a giant, freaking—
“What’s on your mind, Legs?”
Jamie’s voice lifted my head and my eyes off the counter. I turned to look at him.
He had his shoulder leaned against the wall just inside the kitchen, arms folded across his wide, bare chest and feet crossed at the ankles. He was in his boxers. Nothing else. His hair was pulled back out of his face, a face that didn’t look a bit sleepy anymore. His eyes were bright. And he was wearing a smirk that read busted, like he’d just caught me staring at the spot on the counter I had to heavily disinfect earlier.
“Nothing,” I lied around my bite, releasing my bottle and covering my mouth with my fingertips. “Just wanted a snack.”
Jamie stared at me. He slowly lost the smirk. He wasn’t buying what I was selling.
“Tense upstairs, babe. Felt it when I held you,” he shared, pegging me dead on.
I swallowed my bite of carrot.
“Tense before that when we were chillin’ on the couch, but you were hidin’ it better. Probably ’cause we were eatin’ and you weren’t thinkin’ about whatever it is that’s got you down here.”
“Food has got me down here,” I lied again, holding up my bag of veggies. I shrugged. “And I’m not tense. I’m just not tired.”
“Do I gotta fuck it outta you?”
My head jerked back. I lowered the baggie to the counter, reading the seriousness in Jamie’s eyes.
Mm. Now there’s an idea.
“I’m out of Lysol,” I informed him.
Jamie’s brows lifted. “Say again?”
“I’m out of Lysol. If we do it in here, you can’t be banging me on the counter again. I don’t have anything to disinfect it with.”