“I won’t.”
He kisses me, soft and slow, and I start to feel a familiar heat in my blood. I never thought this would happen again. I was too angry and too hurt. But seeing the way Peter looks at me, the truth in his eyes and voice, I believe him. And if I’m being really honest with myself, I’ve known the truth for a long time.
I think my anger at Peter was the only way that I could hold onto him. It was the only thing that I had left. But now, being able to let it go is like releasing tension that I hadn’t even noticed that I was carrying. It’s so relieving that I think I could fall asleep as Peter drives us to his house. Except for the fact that I know where this is going, and I’m as nervous as I am excited.
Peter reaches across the seat and takes my hand, threading our fingers together. We’re quiet, but it doesn’t feel uncomfortable. There’s just not much to say. We’re both processing our confessions, and what it might mean. I can’t speak for Peter, but I’m suddenly re-evaluating a lot of things that I thought weren’t possible anymore.
There was a time when I dreamed of Peter and me taking on the world together. Now I wonder if that could be the case again, both professionally and personally.
We pull into a shady drive, and Peter parks the car. I wait for him to come around to my side of the car, but I don’t let him carry me. Taking my shoes from his hands, I let him take the other and pull me gently up the walk to his front door.
“You have a nice place,” I say while he’s unlocking the door.
He laughs. “You haven’t seen the inside yet.”
“I don’t need to. You’ve always had good taste.”
I’m correct. Peter’s house is decorated in warm whites and wooden accents with a minimalist touch that I appreciate.
We walk into his kitchen, which is beautiful and open, and he pulls his tie off, which is distracting since he’s now showing a hint of chest. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes.” I’m going to need one. I’m not scared of Peter—I could never be scared of him, but it’s been a long time since we’ve done this, and it’s entirely possible that our baggage could end up in bed with us.
He grins, at least partially back to himself. “How strong of a drink?”
“I’m not driving, so hit me.”
There’s a bar cart against one wall that’s well stocked, and he walks over to it, and pours himself a drink. “I don’t know what kind of alcohol you prefer.”
“Vodka or rum,” I say. “And I don’t care if it makes me a sissy, I prefer drinks where you can’t really taste the alcohol .”
Peter laughs, a freer sound than I’ve heard him make in a while. “I don’t think that anyone’s used the word sissy since we were in high school, and you should never apologize for your taste buds.”
“True. If you have any mixers that are fruity, that will work.”
“Oh,” Peter says, winking, “I have all the mixers. Spent a bit of time behind the bar before I had my big break.”
I toss my shoes in a corner, and sit on one of the cushy barstools. “Then make me something amazing.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” He smiles.
I watch him put a few things into a shaker, and he mixes it together, and then he adds another ingredient and mixes it again. He pours it into a tall glass and adds a lime garnish, then presents it to me with a flourish.
“What am I tasting?”
“No spoilers. What fun would that be?”
I raise an eyebrow, but don’t protest as I raise the glass to my lips. It’s both sweet and tart. There’s a hint of apple and cranberry, and something else I can’t name. It’s really good. “Mmm. I bet you made a bundle in tips.”
He’s close. So close that he could kiss me, and I hope that he does. “I did okay.”
“Did you do okay because you made good drinks or because you happen to be really hot?”
Peter undoes another button on his shirt, never taking his eyes off mine. “I’ll plead the fifth on that one.”
“Of course you will.” I take another sip of my drink enjoying the sweetness of it and the fact that it’s already making my head swim a little. We didn’t eat dinner. “I’m going to be a light-weight tonight.”
“I can order food,” he says.
“That’s probably a good idea. Especially since we might be hungry later.”
His face is suddenly innocent. “Whatever will we be doing that would make us hungry?”
“I have no idea. I’d show you, but you haven’t ordered the food yet.”
Peter swivels the bar stool so that I’m facing him. “Are you withholding sex until I order you food?”
“It seems like a fair trade,” I say, shrugging while downing more of my drink.
“You might have a point.” He fishes his phone out of his jacket and focuses. There’s tapping, and more tapping, and I enjoy the buzz that’s in my head and in my veins while he finishes the order.
“Okay. There is a literal mountain of Thai food on the way. But that means that I can’t take you to bed until it gets here.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Peter says, stepping up behind me and placing his lips against my neck, “once I take you to bed, I don’t plan on leaving that bed for several hours. I’m not going to be interrupted by some college kid ringing my doorbell.”
“Several hours?” I spin to face him. “What exactly do you have planned?”
“Everything.”
I pull him closer, so that he’s standing in between my legs, his hands running down my back. “That’s not very specific.”
“I’m good at improvising,” he says, “and we have a lot of time to make up for.”
I tilt the rest of the drink into my mouth before placing the empty glass on the bar. “I don’t know if we can make up for ten years of lost time in one night.”
“I don’t know if we can,” he says, “but we’re certainly going to try.” He leans in and I can taste the whiskey on his lips. They’re soft, and I’m reminded just how much I loved kissing him. Love kissing him.
I can take all my statements about the past and make them about the present. That’s going to take some getting used to, but I think it’s going to be good. Who am I kidding? It’s going to be amazing.
“I’m going to have to go home in the morning,” I say. “I can’t exactly show up to the set in this dress.”
“You could do exactly that,” he says. “We have an entire room of costumes that you could borrow.”
I laugh. “A costume?”
“You really think someone is going to notice if you borrow a pair of jeans and a shirt from wardrobe?”
He has a point. “You’re probably right. I’ll just have to figure out how to sneak into wardrobe in a goofy blue dress.”
“You’re smart,” he says. “You’ll figure it out.”
He kisses me again, sliding his tongue along my lower lip in a move that’s achingly familiar. I open to him and it feels like gorgeous surrender. My brain is now on board with my body and fiery need snaps through my veins. “Are you sure we have to wait for the food?” I ask.