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“I’d go pretty fucking far for that smile, it seems.”
means that we drop everything for a ten-minute snuggle on the sofa the second the clock strikes one.
“Don’t ever pull this shit again,” he tells me, hard eyes helping to deliver how much he means it. “The formal dinner. The fucking outfit. If it’s for you, that’s one thing. But this wasn’t, so it sure as hell wasn’t for me, either.” My hair falls free from confinement, and I shake it out around my shoulders. “And when you doubt yourself again or forget who you are even for a second, you come
to me. I’ll remind you that you’re Jenna Fucking Carling. Every. Single. Time.”
“Please, baby. Go easy on me. I’m only hanging on by a thread.”
You, of all people, don’t need to try that hard to make someone love you. You’re as good as it gets, Jenna. If someone, somehow, doesn’t sink to their knees and beg to be part of your life, it’s their loss. Not yours.”
“Baby, look at me.”
“Yesterday you asked about the forehead kisses. What they meant. And I lied to you.” His eyes tick up, meeting mine. “Ask me again.” I’m not breathing. “What do they mean?” He gives me a little smile. “They mean I constantly crave the way you feel. They mean I can barely muster a thought about anything but you. They mean I wake up in cold sweats most nights, thinking about how much it would scare me to have you, and how bad it would hurt to lose you.”
