He lifted his eyebrows, just a little, and she rolled her eyes and added, “Yeah, I heard that, too. Damn it, I’m trying to be serious here.”
“Tash, I’m listening. I am,” he told her.
Clearly, she was the one having trouble staying focused. So she pulled back from him, and he released her immediately. And God, she missed him instantly—not just the part of her that wanted to orgasm around his thick heat, but the part of her that treasured the intimacy, the closeness and warmth, the love. Especially since now they were both just sitting there, awkwardly naked and obviously aroused, on the sofa.
But oh, God, she needed to talk to him about this.
Thomas swiftly reached for a blanket—handing it to her—as she likewise gave him a pillow to cover himself. It would’ve been funny if—okay, no, it was funny, regardless of any if. He laughed a little, too, even as he radiated warmth and kindness and calm patience.
And he didn’t wait for her to start. He just dove right in.
“I’m not a fan of focusing on who’s to blame for past mistakes,” he told her, his voice gentle. “What you call giving up, I call you going to college, you growing up. And yeah, you may have been running away from me, but you were running toward your life, and that’s never a bad thing. The way I see it, we both just came full circle, thanks to, yeah, being locked in here. And it’s okay for you to be as surprised as I am. Was. Am.” He laughed. “Do I wish this happened sooner? Hell, yeah. Am I gonna waste any time worrying about it? Hell, no. We make mistakes, and we course correct.”
Tasha was already shaking her head. “But what if I’d been... stupid—God, I hate it when women and girls call themselves stupid, but it would’ve been completely stupid if I’d actually gone and married Ted.”
“But you didn’t,” he pointed out.
“But I might’ve,” she admitted. “Ted was pressuring me and... I was way more ready to do it than I let you believe. What is wrong with me?”
Thomas sang the lyrics to an old song. “If I can’t have you, I don’t want nobody baby. That’s actually kinda flattering.”
“Or I’m an awful person,” she countered.
“Let me think about that—no, you’re not,” he shot back. “Are you young? Yeah. Are you human? Very, thank God. Are we here right now? Hell yes. Course corrected.”
“Except for the part where we might die.”
“Tomorrow’s tomorrow,” Thomas pointed out.
“So you do think—”
He cut her off. “No, I really don’t think we’re gonna die, I think we’re gonna be okay, but yeah, you’re right, there’s a chance we might—and it’s a bigger chance than if we were in my condo in San Diego planning a morning Costco run. So why waste time? And look, I’m not saying that making love to you is on my bucket list, ’cause this is not even close to a one-and-done thing for me. Nuh-uh. But I sure as hell don’t want to die tomorrow thinking about should’ves that I coulda had if I hadn’t been too damn cautious. And if I can make you happy at the same time...?”
Tasha was silent as she gazed into his eyes.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered.
She nodded. She did. “I wanted to make sure that, you know, you were sure.”
He smiled at her, then looked pointedly down at the pillow he was still holding on his lap. “You honestly think this isn’t me being sure? That my kindness coulda stumbled into your bucket list purely by accident?”
She laughed then. “Oh, my God. We’ll be ninety and you’re still gonna be teasing me about this, aren’t you?”
The amusement in his eyes turned into something softer, more tender. “Yeah,” he told her as he reached for her, pulling her close enough to kiss her and gently push her hair back from her face. “We will be ninety, and I’ll still be teasing you. Hang on to that thought, Tash. That and... I love you.”
Tasha kissed him.
And then she dropped her blanket and moved his pillow, and showed him exactly how much she loved him, too.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Thomas woke Tasha with a hand on her shoulder and a quiet but urgent “Time to go,” in her ear.
She sat up, clearly confused by darkness broken only by the flicker of a candle he’d lit and the bouncing beam of the flashlight that he carried as he moved about the pod’s living room.
“The power’s gone out,” she realized, scrambling out of the cocoon of blankets that she’d made for herself on the sofa. “When? Did you sleep? Do I have time to pee?”
She was a flash of red hair and nakedness in the candlelight—and so beautiful, he felt a rush of disbelief that this was his world now.
She was his world now.
“Just now; no, I didn’t sleep but I’m good; and yes, but move fast,” he answered her list of questions as she found her panties and jeans in a pile on the floor and yanked them on, searching for her shirt. He tossed it to her and she caught it easily. “Careful of your arm.”
But she was already thrusting her arms through the sleeves as she ran for the bathroom. “Ow! Too late, but thanks!” She left the door ajar and called back out to him, “What time is it?”
“1310—a little after one,” Thomas called back.
“Wait, that’s PM, not AM?” she asked.
“You were asleep for about an hour,” he confirmed.
“Shit, that’s bad—it’s still daylight, but it won’t be for very long,” she said, clearly remembering what he’d told her the last time they’d crashed around together on the side of a mountain. Everything—hiking, staying quiet and avoiding capture by the squads of men out searching for them—was harder in the dark. Which was why Thomas had planned to leave just before dawn, where they’d have an hour or so of creeping through the darkness before being able to hit their stride and maintain some speed further down the mountain, after they’d moved away from the various camps of hostiles. Instead, they were doing the exact opposite.
“Moon’s almost full tonight,” he told her, trying to reassure them both. “I’m hoping for clear skies.” The downside of that was clear skies usually meant bitter cold. He hated not having access to a weather report, but they were solidly in the realm of his having to choose the least-worst option.
He held out the bright orange raincoat as Tasha came out of the bathroom, pulling her hair up into a pony tail to keep her curls out of her face. “Wear this as an inner layer,” he told her, “under your jacket.” It was too bright to put on top. “You might be a little warm in the tunnel, but you’ll want it when we get outside.”
“Ooh, the pants fit!” Her face brightened as she saw that he’d put them on as outerwear, over his usual red plaid.
“They do, they’re great,” he told her, lifting his sweatshirt to show her the belt he’d made by threading a long strip of fleece, cut from a blanket, through small cuts in the tightly knit fabric. “Thank you.”
“That belt is perfect,” she noted as he helped her tuck other pieces of fleece inside of her jacket and around her head and neck for even more warmth. But then she rapidly switched gears. “Do we expect an ambush?” She’d even cut mitten-size pieces for their hands as part of her prep, which was brilliant. She stuffed as many as she could fit into both of their pockets now as she clarified unnecessarily, “At the end of the escape tunnel?”