The kissing goes on for I don’t know how long, but a long time.
I want to grab him and take him back to my bed, but I also remember telling myself I need to take it slow for my own good. For Sarah’s good. If we rush this thing, she’ll get too attached, and then if things end, she’ll be devastated. I’ll be crushed if I ruin things with a guy like this.
He somehow senses my inner conflict. I don’t know how he does it.
“I should probably go,” he says. “I’ll be honest, I don’t want to. I could stay and kiss you all night.”
“I could too. But this place is so small, and I don’t want to wake up Sarah.”
He lifts one cocky eyebrow. “Oh, what are we gonna do that might wake her up?”
I stifle a snort. “Ass.”
He smiles and plays with my hair. I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up while he does that.
“We have a big day tomorrow,” I say with a grin. “And you need a shower.”
“Can I call you later tonight? I kind of like the idea of talking to you while I get ready for bed.”
I bite my lip. “I’d like to hear your voice too.”
Henry plants one more soft kiss on my lips, then on my cheeks and then on my forehead, and he’s out the door.
I usually listen to podcasts to entertain me while I clean up the kitchen, but this time, I completely forget about them. Instead, I pad around the kitchen, cleaning up dishes, wiping down surfaces, and packing up leftovers from the living room, all with a stupid, dopey grin on my face.
Chapter Eleven
Henry
I dab my hand on the towel and dial her number as soon as I’m out of the shower.
She answers on the second ring. I put the phone on speaker and set it down on the bathroom counter, far away from my drips because I’m aware that I can behave like a water buffalo in the bathroom. As I wipe the condensation off the bathroom mirror with my hand, I see the smile breaking across my face. Her voice, just being connected to her, does that to me.
“That was quick,” she says.
“I’m fast in the shower.”
Leaning over while I drip all over my bathroom rug, I jut out my chin in the mirror and examine my stubble, wondering if she’d like me to leave it or shave it off.
“I take forever in the shower,” she says.
Thoughtlessly, I reply, “I only take my time when other people are in the shower with me.”
On the other end, I hear a small gasp and a giggle.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I say, straightening up and running my hands through my hair, mentally kicking myself for making it sound like I’m some kind of dude who gets a lot of action.
She continues to laugh and I don’t know if I should feel relieved that she’s not upset at the mention of hypothetical shower partners, or if she’s nervous and filling the space with the beautiful sounds of her laughter. “I cannot possibly imagine more than one meaning to that statement, Henry.”
I bite my lip when she says my name. “Henry.” My buddies call me Hank. The way her voice changes from assertive to soft when my name comes out of her mouth does things to my body. It feels like a touch. Her touch. When she speaks my name, it is like soft fingers caressing my chest.
My body notes the distance between us, and the inexplicable pain begins again.
I’m so happy to be on the phone with her, but I need her closer. I need her here, in my house, in my shower, in my bed. I need her shoes in my mudroom, her snacks in my pantry, and her panties wrapped around my fist. More than anything I need her heart beating next to mine when I’m gripping her adorable ass in my bed.
“I meant to say,” I clarify, grabbing the towel from the rod and absently dabbing my chest with it, “that if you were here with me, I’d be taking my time in the shower. With you.”
That stops her nervous giggles in its tracks. She’s quiet for a moment while she lets it sink in. That’s OK. I told her before that I know what I want. That I like her and I want to be with her. No sense in holding back.
“Are we about to have phone sex, Henry?”
There’s my name in her mouth again. I love hearing her say it. I want to make her moan it. Cry it out. Scream it with pleasure. Use my name to beg for what she wants. I want her to sigh it while I hold and squeeze her breasts. I want her to say it with a whimper while I run my thumb over her nipple. I want her to rasp my name into my mouth while I slide my shaft into her warmth.
By the same token, I find myself curious about her. I want to ease into this relationship with her. I ask her to tell me more about herself while I saunter back to my room, still half wet from the shower, the partially used bath towel in my hand. I lie
