let Jonas sleep on the floor of the terminal.
But I can’t go with him. It isn’t that I don’t want to go. The prospect of spending the night with Jonas is electrifying. My pulse kicks up to one hundred yard dash speed and I struggle to keep myself in check. I just can’t go.
Jonas does it for me. Not just physically but he gets me right in the gut and the area dangerously close to my heart. I don’t have room for him right now, everything already feels too big as I stretch to allow myself to grow. If I let him in, I don’t know if I can breathe.
“Wow. Okay. That’s really nice of you but I’m good right here.” I pat the ground beside me and nudge the dude on my shoulder one more time. “I’ve got a good spot here on the wall.”
Oh sweet baby Jesus. Can I just stop talking?
“I thought you’d say that.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and thumbs the screen, fingers tapping along on what I can only assume is a text. He stops typing and waits, looking at me with a completely unreadable expression on his face. I open my mouth to ask him if he is going to stand there all night when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, key in my password and see that I have a text from Landon.
Great.
I swipe it open.
Go with him or mom will call the National Guard. You know I’m not kidding.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck. He is dead serious. I don’t think for one minute that the National Guard will do anything if my mom calls them—I am sure they have a class in boot camp on how to blow off hysterical, overprotective parents—but she’ll spend the night calling anybody. Everybody. She’ll be insane and I’ll be a horrible daughter for letting her worry when a solution is right in front of me.
I groan and dip my head in defeat, banging the phone against my forehead in the drumbeat of the defeated.
“I take it from your moment of melodrama that you’ve decided to go with me,” Jonas breaks into my thoughts, his tone sarcastic and very sexy. Damn him. I look up, a glare plastered on my face with the fervent hope that he can’t see the way my hands shake. “Let’s go. We’re going to have to walk and I want to get there before dark.”
He reaches out a hand, leaning over to help me off the floor. I shove the snoring dude, trying to prop him up on the wall but not having much hope that he won't fall over in a heap the minute I’m gone. I snag my backpack and Wonder Woman and accept his assistance. My ass has gone to sleep from sitting on the barely padded floor and I’m grateful for his support because my legs are also tingly and weak. I stumble forward when I stand and fall into Jonas.
I’m tall at five feet nine inches so we touch everywhere. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest and the way he is leaning into my space our mouths are within inches of each other. My sensory memory recalls the smell of leather and cedar from his cologne, the whiff of the oil paints he uses, the sweetly clean smell of his fabric softener, and the underlying scent of Jonas that makes my mouth water.
He tastes as good as he looks and twice as good as he smells. I know this because I spent hours sampling every inch of him that night. The smooth silk of the skin on his shoulders, the rougher texture of the hair on his chest and legs, the surprisingly soft bristle of his goatee and the even softer feel of his lips.
I lick my lips, probably smearing my lipstick. But it is primal. I couldn't stop it if my life depended on it.
His gaze lingers on the place where my tongue has just been and I know in that instant that I’m not the only one struck with an inconvenient bout of lust right here in Terminal D. This is going to be a long night.
“I always did love how red looked on you,” Jonas says, his voice catching a little bit on the last word. He pauses for the briefest second, as if he is memorizing the exact shade of red lipstick, before shaking his head and backing way. He rubs his jaw as a strange grin teases his lips.
But I can’t go with him. It isn’t that I don’t want to go. The prospect of spending the night with Jonas is electrifying. My pulse kicks up to one hundred yard dash speed and I struggle to keep myself in check. I just can’t go.
Jonas does it for me. Not just physically but he gets me right in the gut and the area dangerously close to my heart. I don’t have room for him right now, everything already feels too big as I stretch to allow myself to grow. If I let him in, I don’t know if I can breathe.
“Wow. Okay. That’s really nice of you but I’m good right here.” I pat the ground beside me and nudge the dude on my shoulder one more time. “I’ve got a good spot here on the wall.”
Oh sweet baby Jesus. Can I just stop talking?
“I thought you’d say that.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and thumbs the screen, fingers tapping along on what I can only assume is a text. He stops typing and waits, looking at me with a completely unreadable expression on his face. I open my mouth to ask him if he is going to stand there all night when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out, key in my password and see that I have a text from Landon.
Great.
I swipe it open.
Go with him or mom will call the National Guard. You know I’m not kidding.
Fuck. Fuckity fuck. He is dead serious. I don’t think for one minute that the National Guard will do anything if my mom calls them—I am sure they have a class in boot camp on how to blow off hysterical, overprotective parents—but she’ll spend the night calling anybody. Everybody. She’ll be insane and I’ll be a horrible daughter for letting her worry when a solution is right in front of me.
I groan and dip my head in defeat, banging the phone against my forehead in the drumbeat of the defeated.
“I take it from your moment of melodrama that you’ve decided to go with me,” Jonas breaks into my thoughts, his tone sarcastic and very sexy. Damn him. I look up, a glare plastered on my face with the fervent hope that he can’t see the way my hands shake. “Let’s go. We’re going to have to walk and I want to get there before dark.”
He reaches out a hand, leaning over to help me off the floor. I shove the snoring dude, trying to prop him up on the wall but not having much hope that he won't fall over in a heap the minute I’m gone. I snag my backpack and Wonder Woman and accept his assistance. My ass has gone to sleep from sitting on the barely padded floor and I’m grateful for his support because my legs are also tingly and weak. I stumble forward when I stand and fall into Jonas.
I’m tall at five feet nine inches so we touch everywhere. Thigh to thigh, chest to chest and the way he is leaning into my space our mouths are within inches of each other. My sensory memory recalls the smell of leather and cedar from his cologne, the whiff of the oil paints he uses, the sweetly clean smell of his fabric softener, and the underlying scent of Jonas that makes my mouth water.
He tastes as good as he looks and twice as good as he smells. I know this because I spent hours sampling every inch of him that night. The smooth silk of the skin on his shoulders, the rougher texture of the hair on his chest and legs, the surprisingly soft bristle of his goatee and the even softer feel of his lips.
I lick my lips, probably smearing my lipstick. But it is primal. I couldn't stop it if my life depended on it.
His gaze lingers on the place where my tongue has just been and I know in that instant that I’m not the only one struck with an inconvenient bout of lust right here in Terminal D. This is going to be a long night.
“I always did love how red looked on you,” Jonas says, his voice catching a little bit on the last word. He pauses for the briefest second, as if he is memorizing the exact shade of red lipstick, before shaking his head and backing way. He rubs his jaw as a strange grin teases his lips.
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