My voice was extra soft when I replied, “I’m so thankful.”
“Me too.” She was quiet for several seconds. “Now that you’ve survived sexy times, is the plan to just spend the semester together? Thank God you met him at the beginning and not the end … can you imagine?”
I could. Because I’d thought about that.
And while he had brought me home this morning, my mind fast-forwarded to the end of the semester, and it was a thought I didn’t like at all.
“We haven’t discussed it,” I admitted.
“Should you?”
Things between us were moving fast. It was what I wanted, and I could handle it all so far. But bringing up the next steps, when I had no idea what those steps even looked like, was a heavy conversation.
“Probably,” I responded. “And it should happen sooner than later, I’m sure.”
“Take it from someone who’s been hurt in the past; setting expectations is never a bad thing. It could help a lot, given you’re a newbie to all of this and you’re dealing with a situation that isn’t exactly traditional.”
Molly was watching out for my heart, and I was so grateful for that. She knew much more about men than me, so I looked to her for guidance. But it didn’t take someone with experience to know she was right.
In a handful of months, I was going back to the States, and that was something Oliver and I needed to discuss.
“Okay, that’s on tomorrow’s agenda,” I said, refocusing my thoughts so a replay of this morning’s good-bye kiss was now in my head.
Followed by his hands.
And then the tingling that took over when his beard grazed my cheek.
“Today,” I continued, “I’m just going to live in the memories of last night.”
She groaned in a way that made me grin. “I love that idea so much, babe.”
Fourteen
I stood from the desk, where I’d been sitting for the last hour, and once I hung my bag across my body, I walked out of the classroom and down the long hallway toward the front of the building. This was my last class of the day; I’d had two with an hour break in between, where I’d gone to the library to write a paper. But it didn’t matter how much I’d tried to focus on what I was writing or the notes I was taking during class because the only thing on my mind was Oliver, especially after reliving my conversation with Molly this morning.
And it was the impending talk I needed to have with him that I was focused on when I stepped out of the building. I was only a few paces from the door when I felt a hand on my stomach and heard, “Chloe,” in Oliver’s perfect voice in my ear.
As though it were completely natural in this cold weather, a wave of warmth passed through my chest and went straight to my toes.
I felt him.
Everywhere.
And I had all day, like each time I’d shifted in my seat or rubbed my thighs together. And as he turned me toward him, it happened again, our eyes instantly connecting. He looked so handsome in the cold with his dark wool hat and puffy coat, each of his breaths hitting the air as steam.
“I was hoping to catch you.” Through my jacket, I could even feel the power of his fingers, and they became stronger with every second that passed. “After last night,” he continued, “I didn’t want to tell you over the phone that I have to go away for a few days; I wanted to say it in person.” He leaned forward, briefly pressing his lips against mine.
He was more than just heat.
He was sex and passion and thoughtfulness and patience, wrapped together with the most delicious beard and accent.
I shook my head as I realized what he had just said. “You’re leaving?”
“Me and my mates are going skiing in Switzerland. We’ve been doing it since our first year. I meant to tell you last night.” His eyes went to my lips the same time his hand caressed my chin, both making the heat in my body start to boil. “But you distracted me … like you’re doing right now.”
We were in the middle of the sidewalk, not far from class, but we could have been in the center of the road, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I couldn’t move, not with the way he was making me feel.
“How long will you be gone?”
His thumb brushed against the bottom of my cheek, back and forth. “Five days.” His gaze dropped again, the hunger in his expression growing, the more he stared at my mouth. “Another reason I didn’t call”—he looked up—“I wanted to kiss you before I left.”
I couldn’t respond.
Because now, both of his hands were on my face, and I was completely melting, taking in every bit of air he exhaled.
As he pulled me against him, his lips crashing to mine, I felt his pulse in my chest, his taste on my tongue, and I didn’t think I could feel more complete.
“Fuck,” he growled as he separated us. “It’s impossible to keep my mouth off you.” I smiled, and he gave me one more brief kiss. “I have to go, but I’ll text you in a little while.”
I had no idea what to say. I wasn’t even sure I was breathing. So, I nodded, just so he knew I heard him, and felt him squeeze me one last time before he walked away.
How will I give this up?
That was the thought that clutched me and wouldn’t let go as I watched him move down the sidewalk and turn a corner, disappearing from my sight.
Oliver: I just ran my hand across my face and smelled you.
I stared at the screen, reading his text over and over. They were just letters, but they had the power to create these feelings in my body that were explosive. And they were doing just that, his touch so fresh in my mind.
Me: That must mean you miss me.
Oliver: So fucking much. Are you out?
Me: With my roommate at a pub.
Oliver: I wish I could hear you say that in your American accent.
Me: I feel the same about yours.
Oliver: Be careful tonight. Don’t leave her side.
Me: Yes, sir. ;)
Oliver: Baby, that’s a whole different kind of trouble you don’t want to get yourself involved in … yet.
I glanced up from my phone and immediately caught eyes with my roommate.
“Oliver?” she asked.
My relationship with her was much different than what I had with Molly, but she was a wonderful person to experience this with. “Yes. He’s so naughty.”
She lifted her beer and took a drink from it. “Is he asking for something?”
“No.”
“What would he do if you sent him a selfie?”
I shook my head. “I have no idea … nor do I even know where to start with any of that.”
She stuck out her hand. “I do. Give me your phone.”
I lifted my cell off the table and handed it to her.
“Turn your face toward the door,” she instructed, holding my phone into the air.
I prepared myself for the shot, running my fingers through my hair, tilting my body in a better direction, aiming my face at a good angle.
“Got it.” She tapped the screen several times as though she was checking to be sure, and then she returned the phone to me. “What do you think?”