Kelly

"YOU'RE A SAVAGE!" SUTTON SCREAMS, SWATTING AT my hands. "What kind person just dives right into a puzzle? A psychopath, that's who."

I chuckle, falling back onto my chair at the dining room table, watching as my girlfriend carefully separates the puzzle pieces, weeding out the edge pieces.

"Everyone knows," she continues, giving me side eye, "that you start with the frame and then you do the middle. Duh. Seriously, who taught you how to do puzzles anyway?"

"My grandma. I already told you she's the one who gave me that closet full of puzzles."

"So you're telling me that your grandma condoned this behavior?" She levels me with a disbelieving look and then returns to sorting the jigsaw puzzle pieces.

"Oh no." I laugh, remembering sitting at the kitchen table with my grandma on rainy days, the fond memories making me smile. "She definitely did not. She'd tell me about the importance of getting the frame put together first, but she gave up after a while and just let me do it however I wanted. I usually picked my favorite part of the picture and tackled that while she worked on the frame. Teamwork, baby."

I smack her ass lightly as she leans over the table to position the box on its side so we can see the picture—a mother golden retriever sitting in an old red pickup truck with her three puppies. She looks over her shoulder, directing a look of warning at me, and I grin at her unapologetically.

When Sutton mentioned entertaining her, I don't think putting a 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle together was what she had in mind, but when I told her the hoard of puzzles sitting in the closet were gifts from my late grandma over the years, her gaze softened, and she agreed.

"Fine," she says, falling back onto the chair beside me. "What is your favorite part of this puzzle? What will you be working on while I do the boring but very important work?"

"The dogs, obviously."

We busy ourselves with organizing the pieces, me searching for golden fur while she hunts for the edges. She sits with her socked feet tucked under her, elbows resting on the table. Her hair keeps falling forward as she reaches for pieces, and she gathers it together, twisting it and brushing it over her shoulder so the long locks hang over the left side of her chest.

With her neck now exposed to me, I'm too distracted to concentrate, my task easily forgotten. I circle my hand around the back of her neck, angling her head to the side to allow me space to run my nose along the column, inhaling her intoxicating scent.

"Kelly," she gasps, angling her neck to grant me further access, which I greedily accept, kissing along her soft skin now pebbled with goosebumps.

She squirms away, pushing on my head to give her some space. I reluctantly pull away. I'd rather be nuzzling my girlfriend's neck, but I begrudgingly return my attention to the puzzle.

I feel her eyes on me. "What, baby girl? Are you wanting an apology for being slightly addicted to you? Because I'm not sorry. I'm going to take every chance I get to touch you. I've denied myself for too long." I meet her gaze. "No more. You're finally mine to touch."

"You're so fucking intense," she whispers, then barks out a laugh. "Like I knew this about you. You've always been intense with me. So I shouldn't be surprised. But Jesus, baby, you're intense."

Baby. Fuck, why do I love the sound of that from her lips so much?

Maybe I just like the thought of her claiming me. Being hers.

I fist her hair at the nape of her neck and yank lightly, maneuvering her head back as I seal my mouth over hers, my tongue darting inside her mouth just long enough to brush against her tongue. Then I break away, keeping her head pulled back and wait until she opens her eyes to meet mine.

"You love it."

I peck her lips quickly before releasing her and turning back to the puzzle. She clears her throat and I grin, loving the effect I have on her.

I'm not going to lie. It feels really fucking good to know my feelings for this woman are returned. I like knowing I unsettle her, affect her. Because God knows she affects me.

We're quiet while we continue sorting the puzzle pieces, and I wonder if her thoughts are as busy as mine.

As much as I love being with her and plan to do everything in my power to keep it this way, I can't help but think about our extenuating circumstances. Sutton isn't the kind of girl to be happy being a secret long term. Eventually—and probably sooner than I'm ready—she'll realize she needs more.

And it's not that I don't want to give her more. Hell, I want to give it all to her. She deserves nothing less. I'm just a chicken shit. I can almost hear the inner voice that sounds a lot like my dad balking at me and my cowardice.

"So," Sutton says, breaking the silence. "I realize we've known each other practically our whole lives, but that was before. I feel like we should do a Get to Know Each Other Q&A."

"A what?"

"A Q&A. You know, I ask you a question, you answer. And vice versa."

"Baby girl." She can't be serious. I've been a student of the Sutton Anderson School for years. There's not much I don't know about this girl.

"What?" She narrows her eyes at me, just barely containing her agitation. "You don't want to get to know me?"

"I don't need to. I already know everything about you."

She snorts. "Doubtful."

"Sutton." I raise my brows at her.

"Kelly," she mimics, and I can't help it, I chuckle. The whole exchange feels like all our text messages. So familiar.

"You don't believe me? Fine. Ask me a question about yourself and I'll answer it. Quiz me." I slouch in the chair, crossing my arms over my chest.

She shifts her body so she's sitting straighter on the chair, shoulders back, head held high. "Fine. Let's do this. But you quiz me too. Let's see who knows the other better."

She holds out her hand to me. "May the best man win."

I shake it, a grin overtaking my face. Fuck, this girl.

"I'll start," she says, rolling her shoulders. "Let's start off with the basics. Favorite things. You know, color, food, pastime..."

"Pastime?" I laugh. "Baby girl, is this a friendly competitive game? Or an elderly dating app?"

She smacks me in the chest. "Shut it and answer the questions."

"Easy. Color: green." I hold up a finger. "Excuse me, mint green. Food: anything sweet, but especially Starbursts—the kind with only reds and pinks. Actually, you prefer all your candy to be reds and pinks because you might like the color green, but you think green as a flavor is disgusting. Same as yellow as a flavor. Unless, of course, it's banana Runts. Pastime: busting my balls. Or, more recently, licking them."

She smacks me again. "Two out of three are correct. Although I do enjoy both busting and licking your balls, I wouldn't categorize either as a favorite."

"Fine. Real answer: yoga. Especially since the Yoga on the Farm has been such a big hit."

She levels a look of disbelief at me. "Ok. Strong start, but that's just the easy ones. Let's get to the hard..."

"Hold on. Wait a minute." I scooch my chair back enough to allow room to pick up her feet and set them in my lap. Removing the yellow fuzzy sock from her foot, I massage my fingers into the arch and smirk at how her eyes flutter. Always so responsive to my touch. "You didn't answer the questions about me," I inform her.

"Blue—judging on your wardrobe, faded blue. But that's probably more because of the fact that you hate shopping and you've been wearing the same multipack of cotton t-shirts since the early 2000s." She pauses to smirk at me, and I dig my thumbs into her feet harder, eliciting a yelp from her mouth. "Are you denying that you hate shopping, that you bought a multipack of t-shirts—probably Hanes or Fruit of the Loom—or that it's been since the early 2000s?"

I pinch her big toe. "Brat."

She laughs. "Ok, I'll take that as you pleading the fifth, and also make a mental note to take you shopping ASAP."

"Excuse me, Ms. Anderson. Are you saying you don't like how I dress?"

She makes a point of checking me out, her eyes detouring a few extra beats on my bare chest. "I have no objections to how you're currently dressed, Mr. Ledger."

Chuckling, I wave her on to continue. "And the other favorites of mine? Food and pastime?"

"Meat of any kind, especially a big, juicy steak. And being a broody asshole who loves to boss me around and call me a brat."

I laugh, moving on to massage her other foot. "Two out of three. You want to take a stab at the pastime question again? Or I could show you." I waggle my eyebrows at her.

"Do you do things for fun that isn't work related?" She looks genuinely confused as if she's trying to sort it out.

"You. I do you for fun."

"Jesus, Kelly. You're suddenly a 15-year-old boy."

"Fifteen-year-old Kelly was worse."

"I was only nine when you were 15." She widens her eyes at me.

I groan. "Don't remind me."

"Does it bother you? Our six-year age gap?"

I smooth my hand up her bare ankle and calf and back down before meeting her gaze. Her blue eyes pierce mine, and I can tell the subject makes her anxious. "Not anymore."

"But it did?"

"When I was twenty-something lusting after a teenager, yeah it really fucking bugged me. That's gross, baby girl."

"You old perv." She giggles, and the laugh turns into screeches when I tickle her feet. She kicks at me and finally extricates her feet, setting them on the hardwood floor beneath the table.

We're quiet for a few minutes, returning to the puzzle. Sutton has half the frame built while I fumble around with the mess of pieces in front of me, occasionally securing a few pieces together.

"Do you really hate my clothes?" I finally break the quiet.

She glances over at me and laughs. "Been weighing on you, huh? The fact that you think I don't like something about you?"

I level her with a look, and she laughs again.

"You could wear one of Marg's big boxy dresses with the obscenest pattern and I'd still think you're the hottest guy alive, Kelly. I don't give a crap what you wear. But," she says, as if the first part were merely a preface, "I happen to like your faded Hanes t-shirts you surely bought from Walmart right after high school graduation. They suit you. You're not a fussy guy. I like that your clothes match your personality."

"And our age gap?" I prompt, deciding we should just lay it all out on the table. "Does that bother you?"

"Not now. But I would be dumb not to consider the future. I mean, you'll be geriatric far before me. Does that mean I'll have to change your adult diapers and wipe your ass?"

I tug her up by her hand, yanking her onto my lap, her legs hanging sideways off me. My hands sneak up the oversized sweatshirt, caressing the soft skin of her back before settling on her hips. "You think you're funny, but all I heard is you picture our future together. And fuck if I don't like the sound of that."

She combs her fingers through my hair, tugging on the ends. "I've thought about our future since I was little, Kelly. Ask Vivi how many pretend weddings she was forced to participate in where you were the groom and I was the bride. I promise you our age gap has never bothered me. That's always been a you thing."

"It's not a me thing anymore," I say before capturing her mouth with mine, immediately seeking out her tongue and swirling it with mine.

As I kiss my girlfriend, I try not to indulge in the picture she inadvertently put in my mind of a blushing bride walking down the aisle to me. But when she moans, the sound does something to me; and, suddenly, all I can see is Sutton dressed in white, my ring on her finger, our mouths sealed together as we're declared husband and wife in front of all our family and friends.

Jesus, Sutton was right: I am intense. This is intense. The kind of intensity that scares the shit out of me, but there's no way I'm running when I finally got the girl. She needs to hold on, because we're just getting started.