“Why’d you cut your hair?” I groan.
He clamps my nipple with his teeth, making me yelp before he looks at my face with his lips upturned, showing off his dimple. “I didn’t want anybody else to touch it.”
He lowers the other side of my bra and caresses my nipple with his tongue while he massages the other one with his fingers, not leaving any part of me ignored. I moan his name as he continues his sweet torture. He brings his lips to mine and kisses me softly as he shimmies my panties down my legs. He centers his hard, muscular body between my legs and enters me slowly, relishing the feel of me. His face watches mine in wonder, in awe, in love—and my expression returns the sentiment. We move in sync, pumping with emotion and sensual pain, and we fall together.
“What did you mean you didn’t want anybody else to touch it?” I ask as I look up at him with my head on his chest and thread my fingers through his short brown hair.
He smiles sadly. “When you broke up with me and I went to North Carolina, I just wanted to start over. I was forced to start over. I didn’t want to,” he gives me a knowing look. “My second week there I met some random girl at a party,” he caresses my face when I cringe at the thought. “She was flirting with me, asking me about my classes and football practice, and she leaned up and ran her hand through my hair. It made me think of you, and I decided to cut it off the next day. I didn’t want to ever be with a girl and have her pull on my hair like you did. It was bad enough that when I was with girls I wished they were you. I could only picture being with you,” he shrugs. “My hair was for you. Only for you.”
I give him a small smile. “You know those three words that you say to me, and you know I feel?” He smiles and nods. “If I wasn’t so scared, I’d say them right now.”
He kisses my head softly. “You know that nothing is going to happen if you say them, right? They’re just words, baby.”
I shake my head, my eyes tearing up. “No, Cole. When I say them, it’s like I’m asking the universe to make something bad happen. I hope I get over it someday. I hope I can say them and not feel guilty for it. I just—unless I think I’m going to die tomorrow—I won’t say them.”
He chuckles. “Oh, Blake, I love you. To the moon and back,” he says with a wink.
The following afternoon, we’re sitting on the living room floor watching TV when my doorbell rings. I look at Cole confused. He tilts his head as if to remind me that he doesn’t live here. I get up, look through the peephole, and see blond curly hair and hazel eyes staring back at me. Shit. Russell. I completely forgot about him. I run back to the living room quietly where Cole is looking at me expectantly.
“Russell’s here,” I whisper loudly.
“So?” he asks nonchalantly as he mutes the television.
“So? Get dressed!” I say.
“No. No. No,” he shakes his head. “We’re not playing this game anymore. I didn’t want to play it while you were with the douchebag, and I sure as hell am not going to play it while you’re my girlfriend,” he emphasizes. “My girlfriend, Blake,” he repeats loudly.
I throw my head back and let out a frustrated groan. “I know, I know. I’m not saying to pretend you’re not my boyfriend—just put on a damn shirt.”
He’s wearing basketball shorts and nothing else. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow, and I look down at myself and shrug. I look fine.
“Hell no. You’re not opening the door wearing that,” he says as he turns to my room.
“Cole, I’m wearing shorts and a tank top,” I say annoyed.
“You’re wearing tiny shorts and a tiny tank top that doesn’t even cover your stomach.”
I laugh because—well, what else can I do? Should I explain to Cole that Russell has seen me wearing a lot less clothing? I’m sure he doesn’t want to hear that. He hears it anyway, though, in my laugh.
“Blake,” he hisses through his teeth. “I don’t even want to think about that, so don’t make me. Put on bigger clothes, and I’ll open the door for the loser.”
“No,” I shriek. “Just let me handle this. You stay here. I’ll change, and you can stay in here.”
“Hell no. That’s not how this is going to go. I’m not hiding anymore.”
“Fine,” I agree as I change.
“That’s what you’re going to wear?” he asks amused.
I look down at the white summer dress I’m wearing. Not tight and not too short.