“For four blocks?” He rolls his eyes, but the brackets around his mouth disappear. His shoulders, all rigid muscles moments before, drop just a little. “We’re New Yorkers now—we’re not taking a car for four blocks.”
“I’ve been a New Yorker all my life, and I never had a problem taking a car four blocks wearing four-inch heels.”
He cups my neck, his thumb caressing my cheek, his eyes filled with a familiar exasperation and affection reserved for me.
“How many fights do you want to have at one time, baby?” he asks.
“That depends.” I smile and nod to his shoulders. “Are you giving me a ride?”
“A . . . a ride?”
“Piggyback.”
His truncated laugh rides on a puff of frigid air. “You’re joking.”
“Is that a no?” I keep my face neutral. “There’s only a block and a half left.”
“Exactly.” He throws his hands up. “You can walk a block and a half.”
I look at him. He looks at me. I’d rather our wills clash over something this trivial than what we were wrangling about moments ago. Those things had weight and depth, not suited for sidewalk conversation. Those things should wait until we get home.
“Hop on,” he finally says grudgingly, but with the tiniest flicker of amusement buried in his eyes.
There aren’t many people out as we get closer to our place, and the ones walking past don’t look too closely. They’ve seen odder things than some guy carrying his girlfriend piggyback.
“You’re choking me,” Grip says, but it’s a lie. Just to tell him I know it is, I tighten my arms around his neck.
“Ow.” He laughs. “As if it isn’t already hard enough carrying you.”
“Are you calling me fat?” I inject indignation into my voice. “Keep it up and you’ll find yourself on the couch.”
“First of all, there are three bedrooms,” Grip says. “Second of all, if I slept on the couch, you’d be on top of me when I woke up.”
I smack his head.
“What?” His shoulders shake under my arms as he laughs. “You love couch sex. I mean, you love all sex, but especially couch sex.”
“Oh now I’m a nympho?”
“Only for me.” He pulls my hand from where it’s hooked loosely at his throat up to his lips for a quick kiss. “And that’s totally acceptable.”
For the last block, we don’t speak much, there’s less need to. We feel the things we need to know instead of say them. With my chest pressed to his back, forgiveness, love, understanding, and tenderness transfer noiselessly between the layers of our clothes, an emotional osmosis through blood and bone, through hurt and fear. I don’t know how I realized this was what we needed, but I did. It’s hard to touch when you’re fighting. The anger is like a force field, keeping your bodies as far apart as your opinions. I knew if we could feel each other, my breath syncing with his, my heartbeat seeking the rhythm of his, my nose buried in his neck, his hands hooked under my legs— if we could get back here, touching, we could right ourselves.
And we have.
Even on the elevator, he doesn’t put me down, like we’re afraid to break the truce our hearts negotiated through these points of contact. At our door, he slowly lowers me to the floor, turning to press into me with his arms on either side of my head.
“How about a good night kiss?” he asks, like this is a date and we’re parting ways instead of living under the same roof and sleeping in the same bed on the other side of that door.
A wordless nod is the only signal I give, and the only one he needs. His breath warms my lips after the cold walk home. The sweetness, the rightness of it squeezes around my heart. His mouth is familiar, the shape and texture, the soft fullness I’ve memorized with mine, and yet every time, every kiss is a revelation, a mystery trapped between his lips, hidden under his tongue for me to discover. I will kiss him a million times in our life together and never tire of it. My lips will always cling, curious and searching. His touch is an endless thrill. I don’t know if we’ll have five years or fifty like the O’Malleys, but I will never get used to this wild yearning, will never get enough of this deep contentment.
I can only hope we end every fight with a kiss.
Chapter 21
Grip
“WINE?” I ask once we’re inside.