Mr. Charming, page 18
He sits up again and grabs a fidget thing my nephew made on his 3D printer, moving it around. He studies it for a second, fiddling with it while I wait.
“You were right,” he says. “I was in a pretty shitty time of my life when I asked you to marry me. And when you said no, fuck…” He shakes his head and closes his eyes, his shoulders sinking. “You ruined me.”
I don’t say anything for a moment. I ruined myself. “I’m not sorry. You would have regretted that decision as soon as you were healthy and found your place in Nashville. You didn’t want to be married, Tweetie. You were just tired of losing things that meant something to you.”
He nods. “I told you, you were right. You don’t need to rub it in even more.” He lifts his gaze off the fidget toy and smirks. “I’ve had a lot of nights where I wished you were next to me.”
I could easily throw it in his face that his bed didn’t seem to ever be empty based on the rumors, but that will only take us backward.
“Days too. I missed you over these years, and if you want to know why I never came after you, it’s because I wanted you to find someone better than me.”
My shoulders sink, and I walk over to the couch, sitting next to him. I don’t say anything. I don’t reach for him. I just sit near him.
“But I was wrong, because no one knows how to love you more than me. Sorry, but it’s the truth.” His cocky smile lights up his face, and it’s not an act. He actually believes it. Maybe I do too if I want to be honest with myself.
“We can deal with that later, but I have a question I want to ask.” I gather my courage.
“Ask away.”
“Why did you remove the tattoo? I know you never wanted it to begin with, but it gutted me to see it gone after you told me what it symbolized for you, Tweetie. Gutted.” I grip my shirt as though I can feel the pain from that day again.
He doesn’t look upset, guilty, or scared to tell me as that smile stays on his face. “If you would’ve stuck around, I would’ve told you, but first, can I have a drink?”
I narrow my eyes. “Yes, how rude of me. Allow me to serve you, my esteemed guest.” I cross my arms and get comfortable in the corner of the couch.
He stands. “So you don’t mind if I get it myself?”
I hold out my hand in a gesture of have at it.
“Do you want anything?” he asks, glancing over his shoulder.
“I’m good.”
He busies himself in the kitchen, and I watch him move around my space. Not only getting a drink from the fridge but also searching my cabinets for snacks. It’s nice to share a space with him again. I’m not sure what kind of answer he can give me on the tattoo removal, but I’ll give him the chance to explain.
His arms are full of chips, a can of nuts, and two drinks when he returns.
“That’s a lot of food.” I rest my gaze on the assortment.
“You can’t blame me for trying to stay as long as possible, can you?”
I blow out a breath. “Come on, Tweetie. Explain.” I wave at him.
He opens the bottle of water and places it on a coaster on the table. “Why do you always get me to be all vulnerable?”
“It’s called growth. Stop stalling.”
He nods, inhaling a deep breath before he starts. “I wasn’t strong enough…”
I have no idea what else he’s going to say, but that statement alone already tugs at my heart. I’m pretty sure I can’t possibly keep him at arm’s length anymore.
Thirty-Seven
Tweetie
“What does that mean?” Tedi asks.
I don’t miss the skepticism in her tone.
I forget the snacks since they were really just a way for me to stall and figure out the words I want to say so I don’t fuck this up. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, knowing if we ever found ourselves back here, she’d ask me like she would have that morning in the hotel room if things hadn’t escalated. Although I don’t think it would have changed the outcome in any way. I was still so bitter about her not accepting my marriage proposal, and I’d let that resentment build over the years.
“You’re not going to want to hear this, but it started with a woman asking me about it.”
She huffs and looks away.
“I’m pretty sure you weren’t celibate during our time apart.”
“Do you really want to compare numbers?”
Yeah, I know I’d lose, but my list after Tedi isn’t as long as some people like to think.
“Anyway, a girl asked me what the initials stood for.”
“Did you tell her?”
I try to fight the smile, but I fail miserably because I love the note of jealousy in her voice. As if she wished I would’ve told the woman it was the initials of the woman I loved. It would have been the truth, but I don’t open the gates to my heart and soul easily. Tedi knows that.
“No, I just left. Put on my shirt and left.”
“Hmph.”
“She was the first, but not the last to ask. And every time someone asked, it just stopped me in my tracks. All I could think about for weeks was you. I’d look up your socials, maybe call Aiden or someone else, and ask a few vague questions to try to dig up any information I could on you. I’d scroll through old pictures of us on my phone and torture myself remembering the good times. Think of all the ways I fucked up and what I’d do differently if I could. It made me miserable again and again and again.”
A small smile forms on her lips, but she sucks in her lips to stop it from getting bigger.
“It’s okay. You owned me. You can feel vindicated.”
She sighs, and her shoulders sink. “Come on. You’d be the same way.”
I nod. “True.” My gaze seeks out her ribcage, and I wonder if she took my name off her skin after the night of Ford’s party. Probably not. I’m the only schmuck in this situation. “It paralyzed me, Tedi. I didn’t do it because I wanted to forget you, or because you didn’t mean anything to me, or to hurt you. I did it because if I couldn’t have you, then I didn’t want to be reminded of you over and over again.”
She grabs her water and opens the bottle, sipping it before putting the cap back on. All without a word.
“You were my first and only love. I just wanted to close myself off from the pain.”
“Did it work?” she asks. “Removing the tattoo? Did it make you forget about me?”
Temporarily maybe. For a night with a woman I never cared about.
“No.” My voice is hoarse as the weight of emotion crushes my vocal cords.
“Then what were you doing?” I know what she’s really asking, and I hate the hurt in her voice.
“I just got numb after a while. And I know you don’t want to hear about the other people I was with, but they were just hookups. I never dated anyone after you because I wasn’t going to go on dates in some futile attempt to find someone else.” I look into her eyes, and she meets my gaze. “It was always you, Tedi. Always. And if I couldn’t have the real thing, I wasn’t going to pretend with someone else.”
She inhales a deep breath and covers her face with her hands. Her shoulders shake, and I finally break the space between us, putting my arms around her and pulling her into my chest. I inhale her scent, and something clicks into place inside me, as if my body knows we’re home.
“This is hard, it is, but we were good together, weren’t we?” I have no idea what else I can do to convince her to give us another chance. “You were always the one for me.” I rub her back, squeezing her tightly. “The one who quieted the noise in my head.”
She whimpers in my arms and draws back. Her fingers curl into my shirt and her gaze lifts, her gorgeous eyes searching mine. I loosen my hold. The warmth of her body along mine stirs up memories of when she was mine. I’d do anything for our past to stop pressing in on us. Leave behind all the regret and yearning and make her believe in our love again.
“Tell me it’s not too late,” I whisper.
I’m afraid to breathe, because if she says no and I walk out of this apartment, it’s over. We’re over, and there will be a finality to us that I’m not sure I can accept.
“No. It’s not,” she says softly.
The hell if I’m going to wait. I press my lips to hers, dragging her onto my lap. She doesn’t fight me but straddles me, inching closer until we’re chest to chest.
I stop our kiss before I get in too deep. “You sure?”
She nods, and I bring her mouth to mine again, sliding my tongue into her mouth. She meets me stroke for stroke, the intensity growing too fast. I want us to remember this moment.
I slow the kiss and make a path down her jaw. She lifts her head, tilting back, giving me access to whatever I want. God, how long have I waited for this moment? How many times did I dream of having her in my arms again? I can barely believe this is real.
“Can I take you to your bedroom?”
Her eyes soften, and she climbs off my lap, offering me her hand. I rise off the couch with her help, and she leads me down the small hallway to a bedroom with a queen bed, two nightstands, and a dresser. This space isn’t her. There’s no color or art on the walls. Everything is white, chrome, and blah.
“It’s not the most comfortable,” she says, looking at the bed.
I tug her to me, and she tilts her head to look up at me. “Babe, I’d make love to you on a porcupine.”
She laughs, and it’s one of my favorite parts of us, making her laugh. “I don’t think the porcupine would like it very much.”
“You don’t think he’s into threesomes?”
She shakes her head. “Shut up and kiss me again.”
“Just remember, you asked for it.”
I swallow her laugh with my tongue, and she jumps into my arms.
I’m not sure how I got so lucky for her to let me in again, but I’m not wasting any time dwelling on it because she’s finally here in the flesh with me. And I plan to fully enjoy it.
Thirty-Eight
Tedi
Tweetie doesn’t take long to get me on the mattress, and as I lie beneath him, my fingers tangle in his wavy blond hair. His weight presses me into the mattress, solid and familiar, and despite everything—the years, the distance, the heartbreak—I still fit against him perfectly, like I always have.
We pause, breathless, just long enough to stare at each other.
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “Are we accepting that we have zero self-control?”
He smirks, his calloused palm sliding up my thigh. “I like to think it’s more that we’re romantically fated.”
I laugh. “So, our story will be you tripped over your own shoes and fell on top of me?”
“And you couldn’t resist me as soon as you felt my impressive length snug against your stomach.”
I give him a look. “Impressive?”
He grins like the cocky bastard he is. “Don’t deny it. I bet you haven’t had anything close since.”
He’s right. Tweetie is definitely gifted in that department, both in the equipment and how he uses it.
His hand skims under my shirt, fingers grazing my skin, and suddenly, the teasing isn’t so playful anymore. His touch slows, as if he’s memorizing my body all over again. “I missed you,” he says, his voice raw and quiet.
My heart clenches. The air between us shifts, the weight of everything we haven’t said, everything we still feel encroaching on us. I swallow hard, tracing my fingers along his sharp jawline. “I missed you too.”
And then he kisses me deep and slow, stealing my breath the way he always has. His hands roam over me, strong and sure, as though I’m a map he’s studied all his life. The heat between us flares, electric and familiar, as if no time has passed.
I’m lost in him. Lost in his mouth and his taste and his touch. How have I gone this long without this? He’s pushing my arms up, stripping off my shirt while my hands run up his back to get his shirt off at the same time.
Thump.
We both freeze.
“Did something just fall?” I ask, lips still against his.
He sighs, forehead dropping against my shoulder. “I think I knocked your clock over.”
I laugh. “So your hand-eye coordination only works on the ice.”
He scoffs, lifting his head and narrowing his eyes. “I have elite reflexes.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah? Then explain why you got hit in the face with a puck last season.”
He hums and kisses me briefly before shedding my shirt, then his. God, his chest is even more impressive than it was three years ago. My eyes feast on his beauty, and when they meet his again, he’s smirking. So arrogant.
“Just so you know, the puck in the face was an accident.”
“Was it?” I quirk my eyebrow. “From what I heard, you were chirping at McIntosh so much he took a slapshot at your head just to shut you up.”
His eyes narrow. “Good to know you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”
I shrug. “It’s my job.”
He groans, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I grin, sliding my hands over his broad shoulders, my fingers skimming his scars and bruises from the way he gives his all every game. “You love it.”
His gaze darkens, lips quirking. “You know what I love?”
He flips us suddenly, lifting me on top of him with his ridiculous strength. My fingers run down the curves and valleys of his chest. His body is solid muscle, years of training carved into every inch of him. He watches me touch him, and as my eyes meet his, I see how much desire fills them, and I forget how to breathe.
I swallow. “Uh…what was the question?”
He laughs, shaking his head. Inching up, holding his weight on his elbows, his lips brush my jaw, slow and teasing, before trailing down my neck.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing this since you got to Chicago,” he murmurs against my heated skin.
I shiver. “And yet, you tried to act like you hated me.”
“It’s a defense mechanism. You know that…” He lifts his head, eyes locking onto mine. “If I recall, you weren’t too happy with me either. Although I knew you wanted me. How much willpower did it take for you to walk out of that room in Peeper’s that night?”
I hesitate. “None at all.”
His gaze stays steady. “So that shudder down your spine was just a cold draft?” He drags a finger down my spine, and the same shiver racks my body.
I swallow, my fingers curling on his chest. “It’s winter in Chicago.”
He exhales slowly, brushing his nose against mine, breathing me in. “You knew we’d end up here.”
Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve spent years pretending I’ve moved on, only to realize I never really had.
I bite my lip. “You still talk too much.”
His smirk returns. “You love it.” And before I can argue, he kisses me again, deep and exploring, but pulls back as it’s getting good. “Admit it now?”
“Nope.” I inch back and unbutton his pants. “You’re wasting time when you could have me naked.”
He flips me again. “You always were the smarter one of us.”
As his pants are splayed open, I can see a glimpse of his boxer briefs as he sheds me of my leggings. He stands at the end of the bed, staring at me as though he still can’t believe I’m here. He pushes his jeans down his legs, revealing his thickly muscled thighs and the bulge straining his boxer briefs.
“Tell me you have a condom or, even better, a box of them?” he says, putting his fingers on either side of his boxers, tugging them off his hips and down his legs.
I lick my lips, feeling like a starved woman from the first glimpse of his length in three long years. “Tweetie Sorenson doesn’t carry a condom around with him?” I tease, and he lifts his eyebrows.
“The only woman he wants to have sex with had a boyfriend until about two hours ago.” He puts one knee on the mattress and stalks up to me.
“I’ll give you that one.”
He laughs. “Figured you would.” He kneels between my legs, running his finger along my red lace panties. “I think someone was thinking about me when they got dressed this morning.” He dips his finger under the elastic, and I shiver when his finger grazes my pussy.
“Maybe Decker likes red.”
His eyebrows lift and his mouth thins. “Not funny, Tedi. Want me to deny you an orgasm?”
I chuckle and sit up on my elbows. “It was a tasteless joke. I apologize.”
“Look how far we’re coming already.”
I fall back to the mattress and watch him take off my panties, dragging them down my legs.
“I’m going to try really hard to control myself here.” He lowers to the mattress, sandwiching himself between my legs and placing my thighs around his shoulders. “But I can’t make any promises.”
“Still talking,” I say.
He chuckles, then slides his tongue through my folds. My back arches off the mattress, and he laughs again. That was the shock factor because he lifts my leg, casting feather-light kisses along my inner thigh.
“I love these legs.” He squeezes my calf with his large hand.
“You love them wrapped around your waist.”
He peeks up at me. His long, dark lashes just add to his sex appeal. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll fuck you up against the wall before the night is over.”
“Another promise?”
He lays my leg over his shoulder, mimicking the kissing on the other leg before his face is between my thighs again. With the first twirl of his tongue, my head falls back, and my eyes close from the sheer bliss of his mouth on me.
He trails his tongue from my clit to my opening, the tip tracing my center as his hand winds over my leg to the apex of my thighs. His thumb plays with my clit as his tongue continues its pleasure-seeking path.
My hands fall to my sides, gripping the comforter. I can barely keep my eyes open, but I want to watch him. Those little glimpses he always gives me, as if he wants to watch me enjoy what he’s doing, gets me even hotter.
