“I want to be with you. I want to be involved with you,” I say plainly, hoping he wants the same damn thing, but knowing I have to handle this conversation so much better than the meet me in Miami one I bungled five years ago. There’s no beating around the bush about my state of mind now. And no pushing him beyond what he can handle, like I did then. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life asking what if I had told Grant that I want to try again,” I say, my heart beating outside my damn body.
His blue eyes shine with possibility. “You really do?” There’s wonder in his voice, perhaps disbelief. Or possibly the same damn emotion I feel—hope.
“I really do.” My gaze stays locked on his as I push past how foreign it feels to talk this openly to someone I care so much about. I have to do this. “But I don’t want to fuck it up. I don’t want to make a mistake this time around. That’s why I want you to know the score. I’m still learning how the hell to be open about my feelings. I might still be rough around the edges, and I’m honestly a little terrified of starting up again at the wrong time. But if I don’t tell you this and put everything on the line, I might as well strike out looking. If you’ll have me like this—still working on me—I’ll do everything I can to make us work. I’m stepping up to the plate. And I’m taking a big fucking swing.”
There it is.
The truth of my heart.
Flaws and all.
Grant shudders out a breath. Scrubs a hand across his jaw. Parts his lips but takes his time. “First, I’ve always loved getting around the bases with you, so you swinging for the fences kind of gets me going. Second, I’m glad you told me where you’re at and what you want. You being open is a huge turn-on.” His brow knits. “But I’m a little confused now, so I’m going to be really blunt. It sounds like you’re on a timeout, and that you also want to sleep with me and start a relationship. So, Deck, what exactly are we doing tonight in, oh, say, about an hour?”
I laugh lightly. Then shrug, feeling a little helpless. “I want to spend the night with you. I want to find a way to be with you. But if you want to wait till I’ve got more of this shit figured out I understand.” I take a resolute breath. “If you tell me to call you in May and you’ll see where you’re at and if you’re still single, I’ll honor that. If you tell me thanks but no thanks, I’ll respect that too.”
His expression goes full Edvard Munch “The Scream.” “That sounds horrible.”
I laugh. “Like a brand-new form of blue-ball torture?”
“Exactly. So, May is a year for you?”
“Yes,” I say, heavily, because waiting to touch Grant the way I want sounds like the worst form of torture. “Three months from now.”
He blows out a long exhale. “So, you’re saying you want to be with me. Like really be with me. And then you’re also asking me if I want to wait three months to spend the night with you? Is this a test? Like, do I want all of your cock and some of your heart? Or none of your cock and all of your heart in three months?”
A laugh bursts from me. “I’m happy to give you all of my dick anytime, and yes, I want all of yours too.” Then I turn serious again. “It’s not the physical I worry about. We’ve got that down. But I want more than sex. I want all of you, but I want to make sure I can be good for you in every way too, and I’m still a work-in-progress. So, if you want to wait on the whole cock until I get more of my shit together, I’ll wait. I’ll wait for you.”
Grant shakes a finger at me. “You’re a cruel fucking man. You tortured me with your wicked hands and your dirty talk and all those filthy, sexy, insane things you say that make me melt for you. Not to mention those eyes and the way you stare at me. Do you have any idea how you look at me?”
I slide closer, eating this up with a big spoon. “How do I look at you?”
Grant leans into me. “Like no man has ever wanted anyone the way you want me.”
Lust slams into me—a punishing, beautiful jolt of desire. “Because that’s how I feel for you. In every single way. But if going full-speed ahead now is going to ruin my one chance with you, I’ll wait,” I say, putting that out there, so he knows how I feel. “Like I said, you’re my what-if.”