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Finally, somewhat dressed, they made it out into the kitchen in search of caffeine and breakfast. Rosalie filled the coffee maker as Kinsey explored her living room, inspecting her books and her view.
“Oh my god,” Kinsey gasped. “What is that?”
Lemonade had appeared in the doorway to glare at Kinsey. He’d made himself absent the night before, though out of clear irritation at the violation of his space rather than any kind of tact.
“That’s Lemonade,” Rosalie said. He’d been a noisy background to their phone conversations more than once. Kinsey raised her brows.
“You told me you had a cat,” she said, “not a literal mountain lion.”
Rosalie laughed. He gave Kinsey a filthy look and stalked over to wrap around his human’s ankles in a clear demonstration of ownership. Kinsey looked down in faint horror at the giant mess of Maine Coon, the half ginger mane, the weird blotches of tabby, the extra toes, the crooked tail and two different colored eyes.
“Why Lemonade?” She looked incredulous.
“When life gives you lemons.” Rosalie shrugged, and Kinsey snickered. She walked over for her coffee, bravely skirting the huge, annoyed feline to press Rosalie back into the counter and kiss her.
“What would possibly possess you to take in such a creature?”
“Well,” Rosalie said, “he needed me.”
Kinsey gazed at her, eyes warm, something sweet flickering in their depths.
“You’re an interesting contradiction, Rosalie Carlson.” Her mouth quirked as she leaned on the counter, sipping her coffee. “Sometimes you like to be needed, other times it terrifies you.”
“Do you always psychoanalyze your conquests first thing in the morning?” Rosalie sidestepped the observation with raised eyebrows.
“No,” she said. “Just the really hot, frustrating ones.”
She put her coffee back down and pulled Rosalie in to kiss her neck. Somewhere, somehow, in all of it, Rosalie’s jeans got unzipped and the conversation stuttered to a halt, both breakfast and her commitment issues forgotten as she melted under Kinsey’s fingers all over again.
They made pancakes half-naked, drank coffee tangled up in each other’s bodies on the couch, talked while making out and made out while talking. Kinsey went home in the afternoon to get dressed for dinner and something sharp flared in Rosalie’s chest, deeper than longing, scarier than desire or affection. Something she absolutely didn’t want to analyze. But even as she tried to go about her day, trying not to focus on the nagging fact that in less than twenty-four hours Kinsey would leave again for two whole months, the flare in her chest sharpened.
Kinsey had booked the kind of place only someone with a new and obscene amount of money could wrangle last minute on a Saturday night, but Rosalie could hardly bring herself to care. A street pizza joint would’ve tasted the same. All that mattered was the woman sitting opposite her, and the heady look in her eyes.
“I don’t think anyone has ever made me wait five months before agreeing to go on a date with me,” Kinsey said as they ate dessert.
“It’s probably good for you, I suspect.” Rosalie smiled as she licked cream off her spoon, Kinsey shooting her a glare. “Does it feel different to you now we’ve eaten food together that requires three different forks?”
“Does it feel different to you,” Kinsey asked, “now that you’ve been seen with me in public and the sky hasn’t fallen down? Should I tell the waiter I’m eleven years younger than you just in case they care?”
“Our waitress has been staring at you all night like you’re her literal wet dream, so I’d suggest not.” Rosalie raised one suggestive brow. “Unless you’re in the market for yet another groupie.”
“I’m really, really not,” Kinsey said, her voice low and serious.
Rosalie’s chest went a little tight. It was what she wanted to hear, and yet hearing it was also kind of terrifying.
“Are we done here?” she asked, quickly shifting the conversation to safer ground. “It’s not that I’m not appreciating the amazing food but all I can think about is having you naked again.”
Kinsey let go of her spoon, something flickering in her eyes. Rosalie leaned over the table toward her, knowing even before Kinsey did, exactly where her gaze was going to land. When Kinsey managed to jerk her eyes back up, Rosalie let her lips part softly. “Please? I need you now.”
Within seconds of Kinsey’s gesture, the waitress was there, ready with the bill.
They barely made it in the front door.
“God,” Kinsey gasped, sometime in the early hours of the morning, “I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.”
Their bodies were already tightly intertwined but Rosalie pulled her in closer, unable to get enough.
“Me either.” Rosalie’s voice was low and cracking, like a confession. She felt hazy, lost. “I’ve never wanted someone this way, either.”