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In that flicker of time, with something as inconceivable as a look, he claims me, owns me, and ruins me for all others. It’s a look so defining it puts quotation marks around mine, his, us, and forever.
“Are you married?” “I will be.” Resting a leather-sleeved forearm on the gas tank, he leans in. “Does five o’clock tonight work for you?” I sip the coffee and hum. “Is that a proposal?” “It’s a foregone conclusion.” He rubs his jaw with a gloved hand. “I always wondered what you would look like.” “You wondered what I would look like?” “My forever.”
“I imagine sex with you would annihilate every experience a man has ever had.”
“I’d bet my casino,” he says, “there isn’t a woman in the world more beautiful than you. I should know. I’ve been surrounded by beautiful women most of my life.”
“I can’t keep pretending you aren’t the first thought in my head when I wake and the reason I can’t fall asleep at night.”
“Just when I think I can’t possibly want you more,” Trace says roughly, heatedly, “this hunger, this gut-deep need I feel for you consumes me until I can’t imagine a future without you in it.”
His eyes, tormented and bloodshot, find mine. “I want to be the man who deserves you.”
