Page 59 of Goose

I tapped my finger against my chest. “Me.”

“Why you?”

“Because,” I said. “I trust my judgement more than anyone else’s.”

“So, for you to steal from someone, they’ve got to deserve it? In your mind, anyway?”

“Yep.”

He crossed his ankles. “Give me one example.”

“Drug dealer,” I responded.

He nodded lightly as if absorbing my responses. He shifted his attention to the horizon. After a few moments passed, he draped his right arm over my shoulder. Not like a teen in the movie theater, using a phony stretch to sneak the gesture. He simply placed it there, like that’s where he felt it belonged.

Despite our relationship’s unique nature, I’d been rather pleased with what we had. Following the night he cooked me dinner, however, I found myself wishing things between us were different. As we wept that night, I felt a sense of belonging. That my existence in his life had a purpose.

I enjoyed watching the sunset with him and sitting in the diner, talking. Nevertheless, the relationship that surrounded those moments felt lacking.

Until now.

I moved to my left, inch by inch, until I was nestled at his side.

I remained motionless for an hour, afraid moving would cause him to rethink what he’d done. He was giving exactly what I wanted whether he realized it or not. I wanted to bask in it as long as he’d let me.

The sex we’d shared was phenomenal. Raw. Satisfying. Spur of the moment. Our meals and talking were equally enjoyable. What was missing was the in between. The intimacy. I didn’t expect—or want—a fairy tale, but I preferred he take the next step toward becoming intimate.

The sun sank into its watery bed. Memorable, once again. Before the sky went dark, he swept an errant strand of hair behind my ear with the tip of his finger. I felt his eyes on me.

“Doing anything important in the morning?” he asked.

I shivered at his soft touch. “I don’t have any morning plans, no.”

“Want to stay all night?”

My heart lurched into my throat. “Here?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling ever so slightly. “Here.”

“I’d love to.”

“Well.” He stood and extended his hand. “I’d love for you to.”

I reached for his hand. Instead of helping me to my feet, like I imagined, he pulled me into him.

We collided. In more ways than one. My chest came to a rest against his. It was the collision of our lips, however, that shocked me stupid. It wasn’t at all what I was expecting.

Although sex was something that I’d shared with other men, kissing wasn’t. By choice, I’d kissed very few people—primarily during high school.

Taken by complete surprise—and feeling self-conscious of my abilities—I accepted the kiss and kissed him in return. All in all, he must have been pleased because we kissed until I was weak-kneed, and my panties were—once again—ruined.

The kiss took me to somewhere distant and unfamiliar. A place where my heart felt full and my mind cared about nothing but the moment in which I was living. In that special place, teetering back and forth on my tip-toes, I kissed him until our souls became one.

Our lips parted. Dumbstruck, I gazed into his eyes.

“I liked that,” he said. “It was nice.”

“I really liked it,” I murmured. “You surprised me.”

“I surprised myself. I never thought…I didn’t think,” he stammered. “I doubted we’d reach this point.”

I wiped my lips with my index finger. “Which point is that?”

“The point where I never want you to leave,” he said.

It was my second major surprise of the evening. I fought against the smile that my mouth was curling into. “Is that where you are right now? Never wanting me to leave?”

He swallowed hard. “I think so.”