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Zander turns his head. “Different how?”
I think about the first few weeks in the duplex, when his guitar coming through the wall meant I was about to get irritated. I think about the requests, the one-knock approval system, the nights I fell asleep while he played quietly next door.
Then I think about coming home from San Francisco and sitting in my car because I could hear him playing through his open window.
“It’s part of home now.”
I don’t know how else to explain it, so I keep going before I can talk myself out of it.
“When I pull into the driveway and hear you playing, it feels normal. When you’re gone, and it’s quiet over there, I notice. I used to think moving somewhere quieter meant getting rid of noise.” I glance toward the shared wall behind us. “Apparently I just got picky about which noise I wanted.”
Zander goes quiet for a second, and the way he looks at me makes the joke feel more revealing than I meant it to. Then he reaches over and takes the glass from my hand, setting it beside his before his hands settle at my waist. With one easy pull, he lifts me onto his lap.
I laugh softly at the unexpected move, but it fades when his arms close around me. There’s something different in the way he holds me tonight. No urgency, no teasing, none of the restless energy that usually gets us into trouble.
When he kisses me, it’s slow and tender, and I sink into him as the kiss deepens. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine for a second.
“Come inside?”
“Yeah.”
I slide off his lap, and he stands with me, his hand settling at my waist as we head for the door.
Inside, the house feels warmer after the cool air outside. Zander closes the door, and by the time he turns back, I’m already moving toward him. I kiss him, and he pulls me in like that’s exactly where he expected me to be.
The heat comes easily, familiar now, but there’s something different underneath it tonight. I’m not trying to outrun a conversation or prove that whatever happens between us can stay simple.
I don’t think either of us believes that anymore.
My fingers move into his hair as his mouth travels along my jaw and down the side of my neck. He knows where I’m sensitive now, knows exactly how long to stay in one place before I start demanding more.
“Bedroom?” he murmurs against my skin, and I nod before kissing him once more. He lets me go just far enough to walk, but I take his hand as we move down the short hallway.
In the bedroom, I turn toward him and reach for the hem of his shirt. Zander catches my hands before I can pull it up and presses a kiss to my knuckles, the tenderness of it catching me off guard.
His mouth curves. “I’m thinking I like this.”
“This?”
He releases one of my hands and rests the other at my waist. “Us. Tonight. You.”
The last word comes without a joke around it, and my heart gives one hard beat. I’m not ready to turn it into a conversation, so I finish pulling his shirt over his head instead.
Zander laughs quietly. “Subtle.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
He kisses me again, smiling at first, but the smile fades as I run my hands over his chest and shoulders.
I know this body now.
Not completely. There’s still plenty to discover, but enough that my hands move with confidence. I know where his muscles tense when I touch him, how his breathing changes when I drag my fingers down his back, how his focus sharpens when I kiss beneath his jaw.
He knows me too.
His hands slip beneath my shirt, palms warm against my skin as he traces the curve of my waist. He pulls my shirt over my head slowly enough that I feel every inch of cool air against newly exposed skin.
His gaze moves over me, and there’s nothing casual in it. I’ve been looked at before and wanted before, but this feels different because Zander knows me now. He knows the tattoos and where they came from, how I take my coffee, how late I’ll work when I’m stuck on a design, which songs I ask him to play, and which mornings I need quiet.
