Page 115 of The Check Down
Fuck, I’ve missed her. A week away was too damn long.
She peppers my face with kisses as she clings to me.
“You were writing?” She’s taken over my office upstairs; the wall is now littered with Post-its and index cards and a taped-together timeline.
“Mm-hmm.” She pulls back, face flushed and gorgeous and mine. “Got three thousand words in.”
“Nice work, professor.” I tilt my head, gesturing to the mountain of luggage piled at the end of the couch. “Thought you said you could fit everything in two.”
She chews on her lower lip. “But we have so much stuff. And we’re going to two very different locations. And very different events.”
“You do remember that I have another suitcase downstairs, right?”
Her eyes brighten. “Is there any room left in that one?”
I chuckle. “What do you think?”
She rolls her eyes. “That my boyfriend loves clothes as much as I do.”
“Know what he loves more than clothes?” I slide my hand down and squeeze. “This ass.”
She snorts, but her eyes heat in response.
Attention fixed on her mouth, I get lost for a moment. Goddamn, I’ve missed it. And I show her how much when I take it in a slow, sensual kiss that makes her whimper. Her perfect tits are pushed against my chest as she pulls at my hair with greedy fingers and rubs her needy pussy up and down my abs.
Andfuck, now I’m hard.
Looks like we’ll be leaving later than we planned.
I stride for the bedroom, every step full of lust and desperation. “Fuck. Why are you wearing so many clothes?”
She giggles. “It’s just a T-shirt and panties.” In one swift move, she tears the shirt over her head.
I groan at the sight of her topless. And when she frees the dark waves she’s piled on top of her head and those glorious locks spill around her face and shoulders?
It’s a good thing I’ve practiced agile footwork for years.
We spend the next hour reuniting, physically and emotionally. And the next catching up on every detail we’ve missed while we were apart. She tells me about closing out the spring semester, and I recount my time in LA filming promo, meeting with endorsement executives, and handling some of my least favorite off-season tasks. And then I amend our previously agreed-upon vow to never spend more than a week apart.
We lower it to five days, max.
After we take a shower that quickly escalates into other things, we dress and lug the three suitcases and a backpack down to the truck.
My palms are sweaty as I navigate through downtown Holly Holler.
“They’ve already got it roped off.” The excitement in her voice eases the quiver in my stomach. She keeps her nose pressed to the window until we turn the corner and the town square disappears from view.
She shifts in her seat and regards me. “You sure you want my handprint immortalized next to yours for eternity?” Her lips hold a smirk, but her voice carries a hint of apprehension.
“Baby, eternity with you isallI want.”
It took one phone call to the mayor and a promise to be the grand marshal in next year’s Founders’ Day parade to get us added to the list of couples who’ll commemorate their love in cold, wet cement tomorrow.
Shaw’s face flashes in my mind, and I work to swallow the thickness in my throat.
Her cheeks glow as she reaches across the console and wiggles her fingers. I swipe my palm on my shorts, then clasp her hand.
With a dreamy sigh, she pulls our linked hands into her lap and watches the scenery out the window again.