My comment doesn’t seem to dismay him. “I figured as much.”
I put my hands on his chest. “I just . . . I want to kiss you, too. But it’s weird because I just kissed someone else. I’d like to brush my teeth first.”
Graham laughs. I love his laugh. He leans in and presses his forehead to the side of my head, causing my knees to lock. His lips are right over my ear when he whispers. “Hurry. Please.”
I slip around him and rush to my bathroom. I pull open the drawer and grab my toothbrush and toothpaste like I’m racing against time. My hands are shaking as I squeeze the toothpaste onto my toothbrush. I turn on the water and start brushing my teeth furiously. I’m brushing my tongue when I look in the mirror and see Graham walk into the bathroom behind me. I laugh at how ridiculous this is.
I haven’t kissed a guy in six months. Now I’m brushing away the germs of one guy while the next one waits in line.
Graham seems to be enjoying the ridiculousness of this moment just as much as I am. He’s now leaning against the sink next to me, watching as I spit toothpaste into the sink. I rinse my toothbrush and then toss it aside, grabbing an empty glass. I fill it with water and take a sip, swishing the water around in my mouth until I’m certain my mouth is as clean as it’s going to get. I spit the water out and take another sip. This time I just swallow the water, though, because Graham takes the cup from me and sets it near the sink. He pulls the piece of gum out of his mouth, tossing it in the trash can, then he slides his other hand around my head and doesn’t even ask if I’m ready yet. He brings his mouth to mine, assured and eager, like the last sixty seconds of preparation have been pure torture. The moment our lips touch, it’s as if an ember that’s been slow-burning for six long months finally bursts into flames.
He doesn’t even bother with an introductory, slow kiss. His tongue is in my mouth like he’s been there many times before and knows exactly what to do. He turns me until my back is against the sink and then he lifts me, setting me down on my bathroom counter. He settles himself between my legs, grabbing my ass with both hands, pulling me against him. I wrap my arms around him, lock my legs around him. I try to convince myself I did not go my whole life never realizing this kind of kiss existed.
The way his lips move against mine makes me question the skills of every guy that came before him.
He starts to ease the pressure and I catch myself pulling him against me, not wanting him to stop. But he does. Slowly. He gives me a small peck on the corner of my mouth before pulling back.
“Wow,” I whisper. I open my eyes and he’s staring at me. But he’s not looking at me in awe like I’m looking at him. There’s a very noticeable dejected look on his face.
He shakes his head slowly, his eyes narrowing. “I can’t believe you never called me. We could have been kissing like this for months.”
His comment throws me off. So much so, I stumble over my words when I attempt a response. “I just . . . I guess I thought being around you would remind me of Ethan too much. Of everything that happened that night.”
He nods like he understands. “How many times have you thought of Ethan since seeing me at the restaurant tonight?”
“Once,” I say. “Just now.”
“Good. Because I’m not Ethan.” He lifts me, carrying me to the bed. He lays me down and then he backs away, pulling off his shirt. I’m not sure I’ve ever touched skin that smooth and tight and beautiful and tanned. Graham without a shirt is near perfection.
“I like your . . .” I point at his chest and make a circular motion with my finger. “Your body. It’s very nice.”
He laughs, pressing a knee into the mattress. He lies down next to me. “Thank you,” he says. “But you can’t have this body right now.” He adjusts the pillow beneath his head, getting comfortable. I lift up onto my elbow and scowl at him.
“Why not?”
“What’s the rush? I’ll be here all night.”
Surely he’s kidding. Especially after that kiss. “Well, what are we supposed to do while we wait? Talk?”
He laughs. “You sound like conversation with me is the worst idea in the world.”
“If we talk too much before we have sex, I might find out things I don’t like about you. Then the sex won’t be as fun.”
He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear with a grin. “Or . . . you might find out we’re soul mates and the sex will be mind-blowing.”
He has a point.
I fold my arms over my pillow and lay my head on them as I roll onto my stomach. “We better get to talking, then. You go first.”
Graham runs his hand over my arm. He traces the scar on my elbow. “Where’d you get this scar?”
“My older sister and I were racing through the house when I was fourteen. I didn’t know the sliding glass door was shut and I ran through it. Shattered the glass and cut myself in like ten different places. That’s the only scar, though.”
“Damn.”
“You have any scars?”
Graham lifts up a little and points to a spot on his collarbone. There’s about a four-inch scar that looks like it must have been pretty bad at the time of the injury. “Car wreck.” He scoots closer to me and wraps his leg over both of mine. “What’s your favorite movie?”
“Anything by the Coen brothers. My favorite is Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?”
He looks at me like maybe he has no clue what movie I’m talking about. But then he says, “We thought . . . you was . . . a toad.”
I laugh. “Damn! We’re in a tight spot!”
“Jesus Saves, George Nelson withdraws!” We’re both laughing now. My laughter ends with a sigh, and then Graham smiles at me appreciatively. “See? We like the same movie. Our sex is going to be amazing.”
I grin. “Next question.”
“Name something you hate.”
“Infidelity and most vegetables.”
Graham laughs. “Do you live off chicken nuggets and French fries?”
“I love fruit. And tomatoes. But I’m not really a fan of anything green. I’ve tried to love vegetables but I finally decided last year to accept that I hate them and force nutrition into my diet in other ways.”
“Do you like to work out?”
“Only in emergencies,” I admit. “I like doing stuff outdoors, but not if it’s routine exercise.”
“I like to run,” he says. “It clears my head. And I love every single vegetable except tomatoes.”
“Uh-oh. Not looking good, Graham.”
“No, it’s perfect. You’ll eat my tomatoes, I’ll eat every other vegetable on your plate. Nothing goes to waste. It’s a perfect match.”
I like his way of looking at it. “What else? Movies and food only scratch the surface.”
“We could talk politics and religion but we should probably save those two for after we’re in love.”
He says that so confidently, but also like he’s kidding. Either way, I agree we should avoid politics and religion. Those lead to arguments even when people agree. “Definitely cool with not touching those two.”
Graham grabs my wrist and slides it out from under my head. He threads his fingers through mine and rests our hands between us. I try not to focus too much on how sweet I think it is. “What’s your favorite holiday?” he asks.
“All of them. But I’m partial to Halloween.”
“Not what I expected you to say. Do you like it for the costumes or the candy?”
“Both, but mostly the costumes. I love dressing up.”
“What’s the best costume you ever wore?”
I think about it for a moment. “Probably when my friends and I went as Milli Vanilli. Two of us talked the whole night while the other two stood in front of us and mouthed everything we said.”
Graham rolls onto his back and laughs. “That’s pretty spectacular,” he says, staring up at the ceiling.
“Do you dress up for Halloween?”
“I’m not opposed to it but I never dressed up with S
asha because she always went as something typical and slutty. A slutty cheerleader. A slutty nurse. A slutty prude.” He pauses for a second. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a slutty costume. Nothing wrong with a woman showing off her assets if that’s what she wants to do. It’s just that Sasha never really asked me to dress up. I think she wanted all the attention and didn’t really want to do the couples costume thing.”
“That sucks. So much missed opportunity.”
“Right? I could have dressed up as her slutty quarterback.”
“Well, if we’re still talking when Halloween rolls around, we can wear matching slutty costumes.”
“Still talking? Quinn, Halloween is over two months away. We’ll practically be living together by then.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re way too confident.”
“You could call it that.”
“Most men push for sex right away. But you turn me down one night and show up six months later just to turn me down again and force me into conversation. I can’t tell if I should be worried.”
Graham raises an eyebrow. “Don’t mistake me for something I’m not. I’m normally all for the sex up front, but you and I have an eternity to get to it.”
I can tell he’s kidding by the straight face he tries to keep. I lift up on my pillow and raise my brow. “Sex I’m okay with. Eternal commitment is pushing it.”
Graham slides an arm beneath me and pulls me against him so that my head is now resting on his chest. “Whatever you say, Quinn. If you want us to pretend for a few more months that we aren’t soul mates, that’s fine with me. I’m a great actor.”
I laugh at his sarcasm. “Soul mates don’t exist.”
“I know,” he says. “We aren’t soul mates. Soul mates are dumb.”
“I’m serious.”
“Me too. Completely serious.”
“You’re an idiot.”
He presses his lips into my hair, kissing me on top of the head. “What is today’s date?”
He is so random. I lift my head and look at him. “The eighth of August. Why?”
“Just want to make sure you never forget the date the universe brought us back together.”
I lay my head against him again. “You’re coming on way too strong. It’s probably going to scare me away.”
His chest moves with his quiet laughter. “No, it won’t. You’ll see. Ten years from now on August eighth, I’m going to roll over in our bed at midnight and whisper, ‘I told you so’ in your ear.”
“Are you that petty?”
“The pettiest.”
I laugh. I laugh a lot while we talk. I don’t know how long we lay in the same position talking, but I still have a million questions left when I start yawning. I fight it because talking to him is somehow even more relaxing than sleep and I want to ask him questions all night.
Graham eventually goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water. When he comes back to the bedroom, he turns off the lamp and climbs in bed behind me, spooning me. It’s honestly not what I expected tonight. Especially with the way he approached me at the restaurant and then showed up at my apartment. I thought he had one thing on his mind.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I wrap my arms over his and close my eyes. “I thought you were kidding about the no sex,” I whisper.
I feel him laugh a little. “Keeping my pants on is not as easy as I’m making it look.” He pushes against my ass to let me know how serious he is. I can feel him straining against his jeans.
“That must be painful,” I tease. “You sure you don’t want to change your mind?”
He squeezes me tighter, pressing a kiss close to my ear. “I’ve never been more comfortable.”
His words make me blush in the dark, but I don’t respond to him. I don’t have a reply good enough. I’m quiet for several minutes as I listen to his breathing slow into a peaceful pattern. Right before I fall asleep, Graham whispers against my ear. “I thought you were the one that got away.”
I smile. “I still could be.”
“Don’t be.”
I try to say, “I won’t be,” but he puts his hand between my cheek and the pillow and tilts my head until his mouth reaches mine. We kiss just enough. Not too short, but not too long that it leads to something else. It’s the perfect kiss for the perfect moment.
Chapter Ten
* * *
Now
“Two more lipsticks,” Gwenn says. She slides the bright red tube of lipstick over my top lip but goes so far outside of the edges, I feel it touch my nose.
“You’re really good at this,” I say with a laugh.
We’re at Graham’s parents’ house, having dinner with his family. Graham is on the floor playing with his sister Caroline’s five-year-old daughter, Adeline. The three-year-old, Gwenn, is on the couch next to me, putting makeup on me. Graham’s parents are in the kitchen, cooking.
This is how most of our Sundays are spent. I’ve always enjoyed Sundays here, but lately they’ve become my favorite days of the month. I don’t know why things are easier here, surrounded by Graham’s family, but they are. It’s easier for me to laugh. It’s easier for me to look happy. It’s even easier for me to let Graham love me.
I’ve noticed there’s a difference with how I am toward Graham in public compared to when we’re at home. At home, when it’s just the two of us, I’m more withdrawn. I avoid his touch and his kiss because in the past, those things have always led to sex. And now that I dread sex so much, I dread the stuff that leads up to it, too.
But when we’re in a setting like this, when his affection leads to nothing, I crave it. I like it when he puts his hands on me. When he kisses me. I love snuggling up to him on the couch. I don’t know if he notices the difference in me between our house and other places. If he does, he’s never let on.
“I finish,” Gwenn says. She struggles putting the cap back on the lipstick she just applied to my mouth. I take it from her and help her close it.
Graham looks up at me from the floor. “Hot damn, Quinn. That is . . . yeah.”
I smile at Gwenn. “Did you make me pretty?”
She starts giggling.
I make my way to the bathroom and laugh when I look in the mirror. I’m convinced they only make blue eye shadow for this exact purpose. So three-year-olds can put it on adults.
I’m washing my face when Graham walks into the bathroom. He looks at me in the mirror and makes a face.
“What? You don’t like it?”
He kisses my shoulder. “You look beautiful, Quinn. Always.”
I finish washing the makeup from my face, but Graham’s lips don’t leave my shoulder. He traces a soft trail of kisses up my neck. Knowing that this kiss won’t lead to sexhopedevastation makes me enjoy it more than if this were happening in our own bathroom at our own house.
It sounds so fucked up. I don’t understand how his actions can elicit different responses from me depending on the setting. But right now, I’m not going to question it, because he doesn’t seem to be questioning it. He seems to be enjoying it.
He remains behind me, pressing me against the sink as his hand runs over my hip and slides around to the front of my thigh. I grip the sink and watch him in the mirror. He lifts his eyes and stares at my reflection as he begins to bunch up the front of my dress with his fingers, crawling it up the front of my thighs.
It’s been over a month and a half now since he’s initiated sex. The longest we’ve ever gone. I know, based on how things ended the last time we had sex, he’s waiting for me to initiate it. But I haven’t.
It’s been so long since he’s touched me, my reaction seems to be intensified.
I close my eyes when his hand slips inside my panties. I’m covered in chills from head to toe, and knowing this can’t go too far makes me want him and his mouth and his hands all over me.
The door is open and someone could walk down the hall at any moment, but that only serves as further affirmation that this make-out sessio
n will stop any second now. Which is why my mind is allowing me to enjoy it as much as I am.
He slips a finger inside of me and runs his thumb down the center of me and it’s the most I’ve felt from his touch in over a year. My head falls back against his shoulder and he tilts my mouth toward his. I moan, just as his lips cover mine. He kisses me with hunger and impatience, like he’s desperate to get all he can out of this moment before I push him away.
Graham kisses me with urgency the whole time he touches me. He kisses me until I come, and even as I whimper and tremble in his arms, he doesn’t stop kissing and touching me until the moment passes completely.
He slowly pulls his hand out of my panties, diving his tongue into my mouth one last time before pulling back. I grip the sink in front of me, breathing heavily. He kisses me on the shoulder, grinning as he walks out of the bathroom, smiling like he just conquered the world.
I take several minutes to collect myself. I make sure my face is no longer flushed before I walk back to the living room. Graham is lying on the couch, watching television. He makes room for me on the couch, pulling me against him. Every now and then, he’ll kiss me or I’ll kiss him and it feels just like it used to. And I pretend that everything is okay. I pretend every other day of the week is just like Sundays at Graham’s parents’ house. It’s like everything else falls away when we’re here, and it’s just me and Graham without a single trace of failure.
After dinner, Graham and I offer to do the dishes. He turns on the radio and we stand at the sink together. I wash and he rinses. He talks about work and I listen. When an Ed Sheeran song starts to play, my hands are covered in soapy suds, but Graham pulls me to him anyway and starts dancing with me. We cling to each other and barely move while we dance—his arms around my waist and mine around his neck. His forehead is pressed to mine and even though I know he’s watching me, I keep my eyes closed and pretend we’re perfect. We dance alone until the song almost comes to an end, but Caroline walks into the kitchen and catches us.
All Your Perfects Page 8
