Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,103
you, Emmie. I have been for quite some time.” He says it solemnly, like he’s confessing to a crime.
Dizziness hits me, and I cradle the sides of my head with my hands. “Oh my God” is all I can say while swaying back and forth.
Tate sets the mug on the counter and rushes over to me, steadying me in his arms like he did after I fell when I wobbled in pain. He lowers me carefully onto the couch and sits at one end. I rest my head on his lap, my legs stretched out.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I sound like a wonder-stricken child who just learned that the universe is infinite. It’s too much to process, and my head feels heavy, weighed down with inconceivable facts that can’t possibly be true.
He strokes my hair with such gentle care I could cry. “I was afraid you’d think I was a loser. I’m a grown man and I couldn’t muster the courage to tell you how I felt for so long. I made up a work project just so I could spend time with you. How uncool is that?”
Giddiness seeps into my wonderment, and I laugh. “I’ve thought you were many things these past several months, a lot of them not so nice, but I never once thought you were a loser. I figured you were too cool for me.”
“I am the least cool person you will ever meet.”
I think of his effortless confidence that has intimidated me since the day we met. I think of his killer scowl that leaves all of Nuts & Bolts nervous, the way he disarms everyone around him. He doesn’t even know how far and above he is from everyone else. He has no idea how often he leaves me in awe.
“You couldn’t be more wrong,” I say. “You thought of that entire social media and marketing project just to be close to me?”
He nods, then tangles his fingers softly through my hair. “I know you don’t feel the same way. But now you know how I feel.”
“Don’t say that.” I stretch up and kiss him. He hesitates before engaging.
I press my head back against his lap, thinking carefully about how I want to phrase my next words now that everything has flipped. Earlier tonight I thought I cared more about him than he cared about me. I was so, so wrong. What an earth-shattering role reversal this is.
What I feel is intense, all consuming, and unlike anything I’ve ever experienced for anyone before. Because I’m nuts about him too.
I lose myself in his eyes for the umpteenth time. “I thought my freak-out at the reunion made it clear how I felt about you.”
When he says nothing in return, I sit up and straddle his lap, my thighs flanking his hips. The steely muscle of his legs braces my body as I rest my weight on top of him. We’re face-to-face, locked in an unbreakable gaze.
This time when we kiss, it’s different. Our tongues resume the dirty, wet rhythm of almost all of our prior kisses, but there’s a vulnerability to it now. Now I know for certain how he feels about me. I want to show him with my kiss how I feel about him.
Our mouths press together long and hard. I don’t dare let go. He doesn’t either. Minutes fly by, but the intensity never fades. Our heated kisses soon seep into vulgar territory. There’s nibbling and licking, followed by light biting. I love it all, and I can’t get enough.
I can’t get enough of him.
Our hands somehow remain measured in their conduct. My fingers settle against the back of his neck. His split their time between running through my hair and gripping my hips.
He drags his tongue gently against the side of my neck. I moan and exhale at the same time. I’m producing sounds that rival the volume and intensity of the ones I made in the hospital. It’s funny how close pain and pleasure sound. But that’s our existence. Tate and I have caused each other such pain in the past. When I let my mind dwell too long on it, the hurt in my chest returns. I stomp it away. Right now we’re trying our best to replace it with unending bliss. I’ll try as hard as I have to.
His index finger pulls down the already-low neckline of my dress. He dips his tongue into my cleavage for a long, excruciating moment, then pecks my chin softly.
“I’ve wanted