“I’m going to take Princess for a walk,” I say, walking to the door and grabbing her leash.
Rory’s quiet, still lying on the couch, while I clip it to Princess’s collar. Then she abruptly stands. “Why do you do that?” she demands.
I straighten and look at her. “Do what?”
Rory stalks toward me, fists clenched at her side. She stops just short of us, between me and the door, and Princess lets out a whine.
I wait a few moments, Rory’s eyes on the floor, darting around to gather her thoughts. Just when I’m about to give up, she says, “Sometimes, I swear you want to kiss me. Like maybe this isn’t . . .” She hesitates, and I hear the echo of my thoughts and wonder if she thinks the same thing. “But you never do.”
“Rory.” I drop the leash on the floor with a soft thud. “Every time I even think about kissing you, you clam up. You look away, you close up, slam the shutters, raise up the drawbridge.”
Rory’s eyes meet mine. “I do?”
“Yeah, you do.” I say it softly, hopeful that by dragging this out into the open, maybe we’ll finally get somewhere.
Rory’s lips bulge as she runs her tongue over her teeth. Princess snuffles and walks around us, her nails clacking on the floor.
“I have big teeth,” Rory blurts.
“What?”
She repeats herself, slowly, and I can hear the edge of defensiveness that hides her insecurities. “I. Have. Big. Teeth.”
This leaves me stunned. Like, yeah, she does have kind of big teeth, but her beauty is in the whole package—her narrow face, her dark hair, her stubborn chin, they all blend together to make her beautiful.
“Who told you that?”
Rory rolls her eyes and then ticks off her fingers. “Kids in school called me horse-face, once my dentist asked if I wanted to do anything about them, and my ex-girlfriend told me I would be prettier if I smiled less. And like . . .” She holds her hands out to the side. “People are always looking at my teeth. They are big. I know it. You don’t have to try to sugarcoat it.”
I stare at her until she looks away, and then I raise my hands to her face. “Lemme see.”
“What? No.” She takes a step back, hitting the door behind her.
“Come on, Rory. Let me take a look.”
“Argh. Fine.” She crosses her arms over her chest and looks at the ceiling. I cup her face with my hands and use my thumbs to lift her top lip up. I look around, muttering as I go. “Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. Okay. Well. Hmm.”
When I feel like I’ve made my point, I drop my hands. I’m standing just a few inches away from her, and now that I know she wants to kiss me—now that she’s shared this insecurity with me—nothing is going to stop me.
I wait until she’s looking right at me again to say, “Still fucking gorgeous to me.”
Rory huffs. “That was like the unsexiest thing that ever happened to me.”
“Oh really? Do you want proof of how sexy I think that was?”
Her eyes are round, showing whites all the way around. She nods.
I grab her hand and bring it to my fly, where my dick is hard beneath the denim of my jeans. Rory’s eyes widen and her hand curves, almost involuntarily around the bulge. “It wasn’t unsexy to me,” I growl.
Rory’s gaze meets mine, and I step in closer. Her grip tightens now, her lips falling softly open. I bring my face right down to hers and whisper, “Rory Fucking Fox. You better goddamn kiss me.”
Rory
* * *
I kiss him.
I tilt my head up and meet his lips and the moment they touch, a happy hum reverberates through Morgan’s chest and into mine. His hands return to my face, gently tracing my features with his thumb while our lips play softly together.