Five

FIVE

O ur statements were short and to the point, and we each wrote one, as first-hand accounts had to be compiled alone so they would be unbiased with memories that were not your own. What had always impressed me about ours was how close they routinely were, details-wise. We noticed and saw so many of the same things at any given moment—another reason why we made such good partners.

Once we were done, I was sitting in the break room on my phone, and when Lang came in, I told him that Nicolette was very interested in seeing him again.

He scowled. "How do you know that?"

"I got a text from Ashton." I looked up at him and smiled. "Apparently, you had a whole redemptive arc with her in the span of one evenin'."

He sat down beside me. "Why would I need a redemptive anything?"

"You were crappy to her for a minute, but you apologized sincerely, and then later you were your usual funny, charmin' self and?—"

"I'm charming?"

"When you wanna be, yeah."

"That's nice to know." He was quiet a moment and then suddenly scowled at me. "How does that guy Ashton have your number?"

"He asked me for it." I shrugged. "So I gave it to him."

"Why would you do that?"

He sounded really annoyed, like I'd done something stupid, and I had no idea why. "What's with you? You've been so prickly lately."

"When precisely? You can't just make a blanket statement like that. You have to back it up with facts. The when, the days, the times, and what words were spoken. Be specific."

I groaned. "I hate it when you get like this."

"What? Logical? Calling you on your bullshit?"

"Why're you pickin' a fight? It's late."

"I'm not the one throwing out baseless accusations, am I?"

"No," I announced, getting up. "I'm not up to doin' this with you right now. Good night. I'll talk to you sometime later today when I rise from my coffin."

I made it to the archway—our break room didn't have a door—and suddenly he was all over me. His arms were around my waist, his chest was plastered to my back, and his lips brushed against my ear.

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I know I've been a jackass, but like I said earlier, I've been working through something, and it's been hard to wrap my brain around."

I took hold of his wrist and held on, relaxed as I always was when wrapped in his arms. "What is it? Tell me. I can help."

He sighed deeply. "You should be freaking out."

"About what?"

"Most guys, if I grabbed them like this, they would be surprised."

"Yeah, but you hug me like this all the time." And I loved it and counted on how physically demonstrative he was. I got hugs from both his mother and sister, but the majority of times I was held tight came from him.

"I know," he said, chuckling, his warm breath on the side of my neck. "Look at that. Did I just break you out in goose bumps?"

"No," I denied quickly because it would do no good to let him know. "It's colder'n crap in this office at night. It's like a damn meat locker."

"So it's not me?" He let go, spun me around to face him, and slid both hands up under my T-shirt to slightly above my shorts.

All I could do was stand there and stare at him.

"Are you sure it's not me?" As he asked the question, one of his hands slipped around my side to the small of my back, and the other took hold of my hip. "I think it's me."

My breath caught, and it was hard to meet his gaze.

"I bet Ashton texted to tell you about Nicolette changing her mind about me, and then he asked you out. He wants alone time with the hot marshal, am I right?"

He was. Lots of lovely, praising words for me about my smile and my voice and my delectable frame. It was really very kind. And I would have told Lang that, bantered with him, but my brain had shorted out when his hands touched my bare skin.

"So, best friend, partner, buddy, pal, can you guess what it is that I've been wrestling with?"

I'd been looking down at the floor, but at that I lifted my head to gaze into his eyes.

"Can you guess what I was going to say earlier, about it being time to do something different?"

I was concentrating on breathing. In and out.

"I don't want to ruin anything with us," he husked, "because I can't—I won't lose you. I'd rather deal with this on my own and?—"

"You think I'm hot?"

He didn't answer, just stared at me.

"Do you?" I pressed. "You said Ashton wants ‘alone time with the hot marshal.' Is that how you think of me?"

"You… I…" He was floundering.

Suddenly I was so happy, I felt like I had to be glowing. "Tell me," I demanded softly, reaching up to take his face in my hands because now, all at once, I could.

"Don't I…haven't I told you before that I think you're beautiful?"

"No," I barely got out.

"Oh. Weird. I was sure I?—"

I kissed him.

There was nothing else to be done. He talked so much, all the time, and I loved our banter and the way he could wear down anyone with the power of his words. But at that moment they were deserting him, and they weren't necessary anyway.

It was the most natural thing in the world to do, to gather him close, because now I knew it wasn't solely me pining. It was mutual. I kissed him so he could tell, so he could feel all my desire and yearning. I didn't want any confusion about how much I wanted him.

Pressing for entrance, when he parted his soft lips, I got to taste him, and that fast, I wanted more. Because if he was about to shove me off him and tell me we'd made a huge mistake, I was going to know all about his mouth and his tongue and how it felt, finally, to kiss someone I loved. I wanted all of him I could have in these breath-stealing moments.

When he broke the kiss and stepped back, staring at me with wide eyes, shivering slightly and licking his lips, tasting me there, I was terrified I'd messed up. Or more accurately, messed us up.

"You want me?" Lang asked.

"Of course I want you. How could I not?"

"But you never said anything," he replied hoarsely.

"I never would. You're my best friend, my partner, and you gave me the incredible gift of your family. You, more than anyone, know how precious all that is to me. I wasn't about to lose you because I'm in love with you. That could never happen."

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"And not like…"

"More than friends," I admitted. "Like, I want my whole life with you."

He held my gaze for long moments, staring at me. Then he said, "You're so stupid."

"You're my gift, Lang," I whispered, my eyes filling up, but it was him, so it didn't matter. "I want you all the time, every day, but you're straight, so I will take what I can have."

"I'm not straight. I'm not sure what I am because you're the only man I've ever wanted to spend all my time with and think about and—" He took a breath. "The truth is, I'm yours. You just have to say the word."

I couldn't mess up. This was my whole life in this one moment. "Any word in particular you're partial to?"

His flashing grin then. "Tell me that you'd like that too."

I had already. I'd confessed what was in my heart, but he needed to hear me say it now, again, that I wanted him to be mine. I needed to be clear. "You're all I want."

"Okay, then," he said with an exhale. "I'm sorry it took me a minute to sort this all out." He reached for me. "Turns out we're both stupid."

I leaned into his hands, and he eased me close and kissed me, hard and long, taking my mouth, showing me what he needed and what he was claiming.

The second one was even better than the first because I could savor the fact that he wanted me—desperately, from how tight I was held—and that this was the beginning and we were on the exact same page.

We ended up with our foreheads pressed together, panting hard, breathing each other's air, and I was so happy, I trembled.

"I don't want you to sleep with the waiter," he made clear.

I couldn't stop smiling. "No. No, I won't."

"Or that prick Ashton."

"He's a nice guy." I sighed, leaning back.

"I don't care." He hooked his hand around the side of my neck and pulled me close again. "It's me and you from now on."

He was a very possessive man. I loved it. But so was I. "That goes both ways."

"Of course it does." He was quick to agree. "I know that."

"Good." I sighed.

"It's just us."

"Okay."

"Okay," he repeated, exhaling, then kissed me again.

As soon as we stepped outside on the street, I felt the heat and humidity hit me. It was like moving through soup.

"You're sure you wanna walk?" I asked him. "It's summer in the city."

"Yeah," he replied, taking hold of my hand. "I like to walk."

"And suddenly, so do I," I told him, squeezing tight for a moment before lifting his hand and kissing his knuckles.

"So cheesy," he said, shaking his head, but the important part wasn't his words, but how he was looking at me. I thought I'd never seen love in those gorgeous eyes before, but it turned out I had because there it was, clear as day, right there, all for me.

"Come on," he said softly, tugging on my hand. "It's time to go home."

And finally, it was.

But then, because I questioned everything… "You do mean to my apartment, right? That's the only place we can actually walk to from here."

Heavy sigh from him. "You're killing my grand romantic moment," he groused.

"Well, I'm sorry, but there ain't no walkin' to your place in this heat."

He squinted at me. "Fine, we'll get a cab."

"It don't make a bit of sense to go to your place."

"But mine is better than yours."

No argument there.

He had a fantastic apartment in River North that was three thousand square feet, with three bedrooms, his, a guest one, and one he'd turned into an office, or, as he called it, his den. He had a huge kitchen with more storage space than I could imagine anyone needing, all done in cream and glass, with an island. When he'd moved in, he had a dining room and a living room, but that didn't suit him, so he'd knocked down the wall between them. Now instead of having small, cramped spaces, he had an open floor plan. On one side was a huge sectional, an overstuffed chair, an ottoman, and a great entertainment center. The other half of the area he'd turned into a library with built-in bookshelves and one of those cool rolling ladders. The fireplace was on that side, along with a huge, thick, soft rug, a rustic-looking coffee table, a window with a nook to sit and read, a love seat, a big wingback chair with another ottoman, and lots of throw pillows. When he had parties here, there was no shortage of places to sit, but inevitably, people congregated on the side where the books were and not where the TV was. I think the draw was the coziness.

"Where did you go?"

"Sorry," I said, smiling at him. "I was thinkin' about your home and how nice it is."

"Oh yeah? You like my place?"

"You know I do."

"Good, good. That's…good."

"Why's that?"

"I like the idea of you being there with me."

"That's a nice thing to say, but it still don't make no sense for us to go there tonight."

"Why?" he said sulkily.

I shrugged. "Because tomorrow is laundry day, so if you're wantin' me to stay the night, that means you're gonna have to drive me home first thing in the mornin'."

"No," he said, and I could hear the growl in his voice that let me know he was tired. And that made sense. We'd put in a really long day. "I just want to lie down and not worry about getting up."

I chuckled. "So maybe you come on home with me, we'll wake up in the mornin'—I have some of your clothes at my place—I'll shower, you'll shower, and then we'll go get us some breakfast before we start."

He exhaled sharply.

"Sound good?"

"Fine."

"Good," I said, tugging on his hand to steer him toward my apartment. "Now, while we walk, can I ask you a few things?"

"Of course," he agreed, dropping my hand but stepping in closer and draping his arm around my shoulders.

I took a breath. "Are you gonna tell your mother about me?"

"My mother knows you," he said, and when I turned my head, I saw his grin.

"You know what I mean."

"Well, considering I already had a talk with her about it, I'll have to tell her that I finally made my intentions, as she called them, known."

I stopped walking and shoved him away from me, which only made him snicker.

" You told your mother? " I was indignant.

"Don't yell. People will think we're fighting out here," he said, grinning like crazy.

"What did you tell her?"

He gestured for me. "Come back over here."

"No, you tell me what you said first."

"What are you, five?" he baited me. "Come here."

No way was I going to say no when I'd been dreaming of this exact thing, him all over me on purpose.

Once I was close enough, his arm went around my neck, and he pulled me against him and kissed my temple.

I couldn't stifle a moan.

"That was a good sound," he murmured in my ear.

"We need to hurry and get to my place," I husked.

"Because you want to touch me?"

I had to catch my breath. "Yes."

"Yeah, I want to touch you too, but we gotta talk about that."

"Oh God," I groaned.

His chuckle was filthy, and that didn't help.

"I need to hear about your mother first."

"What's to tell?"

"I want to know what she said."

"She knew already."

I turned to him. "What'd she know?"

He shrugged. "Me. She knows me. And she could tell from how much time I spend with you, and how I can't seem to find anyone to please me—her words not mine—that perhaps you were the reason."

I cleared my throat. "And how does she feel about that? I mean, your mother is a very religious woman."

"She is. But you know her—she was also the one who walked my cousin Michelle down the aisle when she married her girlfriend, Eva, because neither of her parents would do it."

I smiled, remembering. "That was a nice weddin'."

"Yes, it was. And Michelle was married at church, at my mother's insistence, and Pastor Aames?—"

"Who is a very nice man," I said, trying not to laugh, "and also absolutely terrified of your mother."

"So very frightened," he affirmed with an evil grin. "But he married them and was happy to do it, and since they were married in the church, now Michelle's parents are coming around."

"Oh, that's good." I sighed.

"It is good, but that's my mom, right? She's not gonna stop loving me, or stop loving you, because our feelings changed from being friends to…you know."

"No, I don't know," I pressed him. "What are they?"

"I thought you wanted to know about my mother."

"I do. What else did she say?"

His brows furrowed, but he didn't let go of me. "She said she would be very upset with me if I hurt you in any way."

I chuckled. "She's worried about you breakin' my heart."

"Which is ridiculous."

My scoff was probably a bit too loud.

"What? Why would I—I would never do that."

"Not on purpose."

"Not for any reason," he insisted, sounding defensive. He moved his arm, side-eyeing me as he put some space between us.

"You get bored awfully fast," I reminded him.

"That's different. This is different."

I shrugged.

"It is!"

"Don't yell," I cautioned him. "People will think we're havin' a fight out here."

I could hear the frustrated growl under his breath.

"I'm awful glad you told your mom. I could not be the one to ever jeopardize your relationship with her."

"My mother would never let something like who I love come between us. That could never happen. And I wasn't worried about that when I told her. I just wanted to hear what she thought."

I didn't even comment on the whole who-I-love part because he had been focused on talking about her and nothing else. "What exactly did she say?"

"That before I started anything with you, I should be sure about what I really wanted because you're my best friend and my partner, so if I messed up, I'd be setting both my personal and professional life on fire."

I nodded.

"I hate this."

"Whazzat?"

"Explaining this to you."

I tried not to smile. "She really is worried about you stickin' with somethin', or someone, ain't she?"

"Apparently so," he grumbled. "I have no idea how I got this reputation of being some kind of…"

"Manwhore?" I offered.

The slow turn of his head with the accompanying scowl was priceless. "I'm sorry, what?"

"No? Don't like that one? How 'bout player?"

"I don't need you to?—"

"Cassanova?"

"Nobody says that any?—"

"Philanderer?"

"Are you done?"

"Love 'em and leave 'em?"

"I just date a lot," he groused.

"Yeah, you do. And that's fine."

"Listen, I—you know, I really like meeting people and getting to know them."

"I do know."

"Now what the hell does that mean?" he asked as we turned the corner to start down the next street, making our way to my apartment.

"Nothin'."

"It reeked of judgment."

"Reeked?" I goaded him.

"You know what I?—"

"I do," I said, slipping my arm around his shoulders and easing him close. "You like knowin' how people think."

He took a breath, calming with my change of tone and the closeness. "That's true."

"And when you meet someone new, you are very interested in them."

"Why are you making that sound like a bad thing?"

"It's not. It's great. You are so interested in the beginnin', and you ask a million questions, and you listen really well, and I have seen everyone—women you're datin', new friends, men and women both—eat up all that attention."

"Okay," he said hesitantly, as if waiting for an ambush.

"Don't get defensive. I'm not attackin' you."

"But you could make your point."

"All I'm sayin' is, you like to learn everythin' about the other person, and that's real nice until you're done."

"Until I'm done?"

"Don't act stupid. You know what you do."

"Apparently not," he snapped at me.

"Once you're done, you go from bein' around all the time to every other day, and then a couple of times a week, then once a week, then once every two weeks?—"

"No."

"Yes, sir."

"I do not."

"Call anybody you know who you think is up right now at one in the mornin' and see what they say."

"I have a lot of friends."

"Yes, you do. Lots of good ones that you see, like you did Malik tonight, pretty regularly. Maybe twice a month."

"That's all?"

I nodded.

"Is that right? Can that be right?"

Giving him a little clench, I would have let go, but he slipped his arm around my waist to keep me close, right there beside him.

"I see a lot of people," he said softly.

"You see the assholes we work with the most. Parties, barbecues, events, stuff like that. And then you see people like Malik occasionally, and the same with a lot of your other friends, and you date."

"Yes."

"But once you've figured out what makes someone tick, you lose interest."

"No. I don't do that."

"I really wish it wasn't so late because you could ask your mother, or Talia, or any woman you've ever dated, or Malik… I mean, everybody knows you do it."

"That makes me sound terrible."

"It's just hard sometimes for other people, and that's why they call me or Talia because your attention is like a drug, and once you get a taste of it, you want to have it all the time."

"Is it?" he husked, and the rumble in his voice made my stomach flip over.

"Yes. But like I said, it's not only women."

"No, see, I don't know what you?—"

"You do it with guys too. You invite them along, and this other person is with us constantly, and then…suddenly they're gone."

"It's difficult and time-consuming to figure out what a group of people want to do. Take tonight: Malik and I thought we were doing one thing, and then plans changed. That's not my favorite thing, you know that. I like to know what I'm doing when I leave the house."

"We never have a plan," I reminded him.

"But that's how we are. That's an us thing."

I shook my head at him.

"What?"

"When there's only me and you, you're different."

"How so?"

"You don't seem to need a plan. Everythin' is easy."

He was quiet, possibly thinking about that, but when I looked at his profile, I realized that I was having a discussion with him like normal when everything had changed. Why wasn't I attacking him and dragging him into an alley for a blowjob?

"You're all up in your head, Del."

"I was thinkin' that I should be all over you, not talkin' to you."

"You could kiss me again," he whispered. "That wouldn't be terrible."

Leaning in, I kissed his jaw, and when he tipped his head, a bit farther down on the side of his neck.

"Yeah, see?" His voice was gravelly and low. "Just that made my stomach twist up."

"Is that a good thing?"

His heated gaze met mine, and I nearly swallowed my tongue. The intensity in his dark eyes was not something I'd ever had focused on me before. "It's a very good thing."

He was quiet, and I took that moment to make my lungs work.

"I'm not an idiot," he said, studying my face. "I understand the point of the lesson you were giving me."

"I didn't mean it to be no lesson. I'm worried, is all."

"That this might wreck us."

I nodded.

"Because?"

"People get emotionally attached to you, and then you bail," I explained, trying to remain calm. "That's the truth, and I can't have that happen to me."

"That won't happen," he replied flatly. "Because I'm already as attached as you are."

"Are you? You're not confusin' it with friendship?"

"No, sir," he informed me, grinning.

"And there are other things as well."

"Like?"

There was no way to have a discussion standing as close to him as I was.

"I know," Lang said simply.

"You don't."

Stopping, he dropped his arm and stepped back, walking a few feet away before turning to face me. The way he was looking at me, like he was deciding something, hopefully not that he was done with the idea of us already, made it hard to breathe. "You're having thoughts like, how the hell is bed supposed to work when we're both tops."

There was that. Sort of.

"Except you're not," he said.

"I'm not what?"

"The guy always doing the fucking."

"Crudely put."

He shrugged. "I watch you all the time, and I've seen some guys drag a hand over your ass, and I've seen your reaction."

I nodded. "Watch me a lot?"

"Constantly. That's how I know everything about you, and yet I still never get bored."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know."

He didn't know. That stung a bit. "We should get movin'," I said, and started walking, fast. "We're gonna pass out standin' up if we?—"

"Stop," he ordered, and when I froze, he caught up with me easily, stepping into my space and taking hold of my hips. "I meant to say, I didn't know—past tense—and that's what was messing me up. That's what I had to figure out in my head."

My gaze met his.

"I mean, I know what movie you'll pick, I know what to get you to eat, I know what you drink, I know what you're thinking most of the time…"

"This is true," I agreed.

"But with you, instead of that being boring, it's information I want and need more of."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "I love correcting other people who think they know more than I do about you."

I wasn't stupid. I knew that because I grew up with a father who put no importance on me, that I constantly sought validation. I craved being special, being liked, being loved. I was a pleaser. I needed that external praise to feel worthy. Lang didn't need any of that. He was not a pleaser in any way. All his motivation, his purpose, was internally driven. It had been instilled in him when he was young how valuable he was. And now, suddenly, because he had chosen me to be his friend, pulled me into his life, his eyes on me were the only ones that mattered. Him being the authority on me, that always made me deliriously happy.

"Also," he began, and I could hear how thready his breath was. "Okay, see, I really dislike it when you give people—like guys trying to pick you up—your attention. I hate that, actually."

"You hate it?" I loved the way his hands had tightened on my hips.

"I like your focus to be on me."

"I feel the same," I made clear.

"I just don't want you to think I could ever get bored."

"All right, then. I won't."

He nodded and let me go, but he took hold of my hand, lacing his fingers with mine and tugging gently to get me moving.

Falling into step, we were both quiet.

"I want you to know," Lang said eventually, "that unlike most people, I always want to hear what you think."

"About what?"

"Anything. Everything."

"And I feel the same." I eased him close, still holding his hand, kissing his jaw, bumping against him.

I had seen Lang kiss women. Sometimes it was mere luck. I would walk around a corner or come into a room, and other times, I looked for him and caught his lean-in. The thing was, every time I'd seen him lock lips with someone, he was gentle. Even when things heated, the women were the ones who grabbed him greedily, possessively. He was never the one who pushed, who instigated.

But now, his hand rose to my throat, and once there, tightened. It didn't hurt, but there was no room to move or pull back. He had me. I opened for the kiss because his tongue was there, pressing fast, wanting in, and I had no idea I was so close to a wall until I was shoved up against one. His mouth on mine was demanding, but the kisses I returned were no less mauling. I was lost in the taste of him, in the sensuous slide of his tongue over mine, stroking, tangling, and his hands now both on my abdomen, holding me still, making sure I couldn't move.

I slid my hands up his chest to his shoulders and then slowly leaned into him, coiling my arms around his neck as he eased me off the wall enough so he could wrap me up.

It felt both amazing and normal, like I'd won the lottery, yet this would be our day-to-day as well if we could both trust in a future together.