The Wake-Up Call

by Beth O'Leary

God. I hand the man my heart, tell him to meet me under the mistletoe, then turn up there to find him kissing my flatmate. I call him out for being a thoughtless dickhead and he tells me I’m making drama. He spends all year making this job as hard as possible for me, refusing to compromise on anything, even after what he did last Christmas. And still he can turn me hot with one single glance.

“What do you want, like, a football commentary?” “That would be perfect.” “And he’s leaning in, the ring’s on Hiro’s finger, I don’t believe it, Charlie’s done it! He’s really done it! Charlie Matterson has proposed to Hiro Tanaka, and Hiro has accepted. Here today at Forest Manor Hotel and Spa, Charlie’s shown the world what he’s made of, and—oh—he’s leaning in for a kiss! And it’s another winner!” “Please stop.”

“You are very positive, especially given what you’ve been through in your life,” Lucas says behind me. “But you are still a real person. You swear when you drop things, and you think certain guests are idiots. You play dirty to win a bet.” “Well, yeah, but . . .” Only with you, I

But he slows the kiss—not breaking away, just easing. Slow, languid kisses instead of hungry ones. I whimper in my throat and then turn my head aside, embarrassed by the need he’ll hear in my voice. He turns my head back with one finger and looks me right in the eye. “If we do this,” he says, voice rough, accent strong. “Then you don’t look away from me.”

yes chef

“Can I . . .” My throat is dry. I swallow, turning my body towards him within the confines of my seat belt. His hand shifts on my thigh, and that tiny movement pulls all of my attention to that one spot, as if suddenly the heat of his palm on my leg is the only thing that could possibly matter. “Yes,” he says calmly. “You can. Whatever it is you want.” He turns to look at me for a split second and his eyes are as dark as the sky outside. “I’m yours.”

he was so quick with it

He kisses me first, hard, fast. It’s exactly like last time—zero to a hundred in seconds, all fierceness and fire, and we’re twisted awkwardly and battling to touch each other over the gearbox and the space between us until we break apart in frustration, chests heaving, and he says, “Come here.”

Within ten minutes, we’re breathless and beyond reason. We obviously won’t becomes We probably shouldn’t, and then after twenty minutes of making out in the driving seat like teenagers, without a single car passing us down this dark country road, it becomes We could just and Quero você, I want you and God, Lucas and Please and Please and Yes.

the way this was written without being explicit and still gave the same feeling!!!!

“No, Izzy. You’re not out of my system.”

“Lucas,” she says, softly now. “You can relax. It’s just me.” It’s just me. Like she isn’t fucking everything.

the way i screeched