The thought makes my scowl claw deeper into my face.
I don’t like the thought of Naomi having some famous creep’s baby.
I don’t like it all.
“I’m already signed up with an adoption agency,” Naomi continues, triggering a flash of relief I don’t want to examine too closely. “By this time next year, I’m hoping to be a mom, and I want to raise my son or daughter near my family and surrounded by people who want the best for them.”
She steps closer, pinning me with that soulful look that once made me feel safe telling her things I’d never told anyone else. “People like you,” she continues in a softer voice. “Because I know there’s still a wonderful person inside this big grouch standing in front of me.”
“I’m not a grouch.”
“Please,” she says with a gentle smile. “You’re so grouchy Oscar would call you his homeboy.”
I sigh.
“You’re so grouchy if they made a movie about you they’d call it Grouch-zilla.” She taps her finger to the center of my chest. “You’re so grouchy, if you were a leprechaun your name would be Snarly McGrouchyPot the Third.”
“McGrouchyPot,” I repeat with an arched brow.
“McGrouchyPot the Third,” she corrects with a straight face.
My lips twitch at the edges.
“Don’t smile,” she warns in a whisper. “For God’s sake, fight it. If you smile, all is lost.”
I give up and let my lips stretch but I roll my eyes while I’m at it.
“There it is,” Naomi says with a grin. “I’ve missed your smile.”
Her sweet, wistful voice summons a wave of longing inside me so fierce and unexpected it takes my breath away. I can play it tough all I want, but deep down, I want to smile at Naomi. I want to laugh at her dumb jokes and play carnival games until our throwing arms are sore and eat giant turkey legs and I really, really want to see if her hand still fits perfectly in mine.
But I can’t.
I can’t do this. I can’t relax and let her in. If I do, I’ll be defenseless against her. She’s like that fifth beer on Saturday night or the third donut on Sunday morning—irresistible, at times, but bad for me.
So, so bad.
“I have to go,” I say, taking a step back.
“Wait.” She catches my hand and holds tight. “I’m sorry. There’s no pressure to smile. Please, just…let’s try to enjoy the night, okay? And the other nights, too. And if by the end of the last date you still don’t want to be friends, I promise I’ll leave you alone.”
“No, you won’t,” I say, the muscle in my jaw twitching as Naomi threads her fingers through mine.
“I will, I promise,” she says, her eyes wide in her heart-shaped face and her lips parted in a silent invitation I’m not even sure she realizes she’s making.
But I hear it. Loud and clear.
And if I stick around much longer, I’m going to take her up on it.
I’m going to pull her into my arms and cup her ass—my favorite ass, the one that dances through my dirtiest dreams—in my palms and pull her up my body until her feet dangle off the ground.
Then I’m going to devour her. Whole. Right in front of the entire town.
And chances are we won’t stop there. Chances are we’ll end up kissing in my truck, then on my couch, then in my bed, and before I can say “my soul is unwilling to bang you, but my flesh is weak,” I’ll be showing her all the things I’ve learned about how to pleasure a woman in the fifteen years since she left. My lips will explore every inch of her flushed skin, teasing, tasting, until she begs me to take her.
The last time we were together, I wasn’t much more than a boy.
Now, I’m a man, with a man’s experience and a man’s self-control.
Sex with Naomi was hot as hell before, but there’s no doubt in my mind it would be even hotter now.
Now, I’d be able to make her come in ways I hadn’t mastered at eighteen, to drive her slowly, deliberately out of her mind with wanting me before I push inside her. Before I feel her body grip me tight as we find that place where there’s nothing but us, nothing but our breaths coming faster and our hearts slamming in our chests and love so big we don’t know what to do with it overflowing the boundaries of our skin.
God, I loved her. So much.
Everything about her—her smile, her voice, her heart, the way she touched me and the way she responded to my touch and the way she made me feel like I’d never be lonely again.
The memory of it is so bittersweet it makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the chest. Because all of that is in the past, too far gone to ever be resurrected or recaptured and there’s too much water under this bridge for a fresh start.