Page 21 of Ready, Willing and Abel

I nod, heat creeping up my neck. “Yeah. I’ve never been with anyone before. Not until you.”

For a moment, she’s utterly silent. Then her lips part in wonder, not disbelief, not judgment—wonder. “Abel,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

I cup her face, thumbing her damp cheek. “Because I didn’t want it to be about that. I wanted it to be about us. About how badly I’ve wanted you since the second we met.”

Her eyes shine, softer than I’ve ever seen them. She presses her forehead to mine, kissing me with slow reverence.

“You could’ve been with anyone, Abel,” she murmurs. “And you chose me.”

“I meant what I said. I’ve never wanted anyone the way that I want you. It’ll always be you.”

chapter

ten

Esme

Abel cleaned us both up and got us some water to hydrate ‘before our next round’ he said. My head is on his chest, and we’re snuggled up, still naked, but cleaned up. His fingers trace light circles on my back and hip.

This feels so real. Like it means something to him the way it does to me.

“Did you mean what you said at the restaurant?”

“Emphatically. Those were the best fried shrimp I’ve ever had,” I say.

The rumble of his laugh vibrates beneath my ear. “I meant about having a crush on me?”

“You really wanna know?” I ask.

“I think I do.”

Kissing him lightly on his chest, I stand from the bed and walk over to my closet door. I’ve never been shy about my body. I’m thick. I have curves. I have fat and rolls and other parts some might deem imperfect, but they’re as much a part of me as my brown hair. My body is strong, and it lets me do the physical work that keeps what’s left of this little farm running.

I open the door, then lean inside to pull the chain and turn on the lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. There, on the back of the door, is the faded poster from his last season in Oliver’s Twist.

He sits up on the bed. “You were serious?”

“Oh yes. Very.” This should probably be embarrassing, but somehow it feels like the perfect thing to discuss. I’m still kind of shocked about his virginity confession. The next step in our—dare I hope—relationship?

“You were my first crush. Saw every episode of the show at least three times. I read every interview. And eventually it wasn’t Oliver I had a crush on, but you. At least the you I conjured in my mind.

“Every night before bed, I’d come kiss your poster goodnight like a giant dork. I doodled my name with yours on all of my notebooks at school. Abel and Esme. Abel loves Esme. Esme Cartwright. So yeah, big time crush.”

“Even when I looked like that?”

I stare at the poster, then look back at him. “Same stunning grey eyes. Same sweet smile. Your hair is shorter now, and you’re obviously taller.” I turn and face him. “I know people probably made you feel like you couldn’t keep acting with extra weight on your body. And whoa, you are off the charts hot now. But I still see a bit of that boy when I look at you. My heart still pounds in my ears when you smile.”

I’m pretty sure I love him, but I don’t dare say that. No doubt he hears that a hundred times a day. Girls sliding into his DM’s, sending him nude photos, tossing their panties at him at movie premieres. He’s got to be inundated with people always wanting his attention.

“Can I make another confession?” he asks.

My heart thunders waiting for his words. I nod.

“I have a crush on Esme Morales.”

I smile so big, it makes my cheeks hurt. “Oh yeah?”

“Definitely.” He kisses my forehead and I think my ovaries melt.