Perfect Together by Kristen Ashley

“You were bigger than her, stronger than her,” I tossed out my hand, realized it held a glass, and I reeled it in before disaster struck with red wine on white damask. “You’re you, Remy. You’re smart and talented and handsome and funny. You were a great husband, we made beautiful babies, and we were happy. You had all of that and she had her moans and gripes. I just thought, since I got that, you did too, because you were so above her, she couldn’t reach you.”

“So above her, she couldn’t reach you,” he repeated so softly, I almost didn’t hear him.

And he was no longer looking at me.

His gaze was aimed at my pillows.

“Remy,” I called.

His attention came back to me.

“Please tell me you didn’t walk out on me because my girlfriend was mean to you.”

“I didn’t leave you because Bea was mean to me. But I will say that it bugged the fuck out of me, and it didn’t help things.”

Okay.

Here we were.

“What were those…things?”

“Do you remember the Monkey Bar?”

I was on edge, freaked out, very scared, but Remy asking that, there was no way I wouldn’t smile.

So I did.

“Yes,” I answered.

His gaze was on my smile. It was warm and something else I didn’t have time to gauge, maybe relief, maybe triumph, maybe a touch of both, and it lifted to mine.

And the solemnity of his tone stunned me when he asked, “Do you, Wyn? Do you really remember?”

“Of course I do. You took me there on our first date.”

“Do you remember what you told me when we sat down?”

I remembered I couldn’t believe I was with such an amazing man on a date.

But I didn’t remember what I said when we sat down.

So I shook my head.

“You said you’d never been anywhere like that before.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“Do you remember what I said?”

Oh God.

Tears hit my eyes.

Because it was coming back to me.

And the word was husky when I said, “Yes.”

“What’d I say?” he asked gently.

“You said, ‘Get used to it.’”

“Give me the glass, honey.”

I handed him my wineglass.

He reached long to put it on my nightstand, and he’d barely sat back before I fell in his arms.

I would have crawled into his skin if I could have, such was the power of how good it felt to have Remy’s arms around me again, the depth of the emotion I was weeping into his tee, the strength of my need to be swept back twenty-five years and be sitting in a booth in the coolest place I’d ever been with the most handsome man I’d ever seen, and have him say, straight out, the minute we sat down to truly start our first date, that I was his.

I was his.

Get used to it.

So sure.

Completely.

Which meant he was mine.

Forever.

After a while, I realized Remy was holding me close with one arm, I was draped across his lap, and he was playing with my hair with his other hand.

God, that felt so nice.

I shoved my face in his chest.

“All right?” he asked.

No.

I nodded my lie and started to push away, but the hair-playing stopped and both arms came around me.

I dropped my head back to catch his eyes.

“You’re drunk,” he stated.

“Tipsy,” I corrected.

He smiled.

“You’re tipsy,” he amended.

“Indeed,” I agreed.

“I miss your taste. I miss your smell. I miss the noises you make. The way your face looks when you’re turned on. I miss being balls deep in you. And I figure, if I kissed you right now, I wouldn’t be able to stop making you come until maybe this time tomorrow. But only to pass out so we could start again.”

I just stared up at him because he had all my attention.

“But no way in fuck am I doing that when you’re…tipsy,” he continued. “When we go there again, you’re going to be fully lucid, I’m going to be fully lucid, and we’re going to have our shit fully sorted.”

“I—”

“Say goodnight, Wynnie.”

I pressed my lips together because he rarely called me Wynnie. He was the only human being on the planet I ever allowed to do it, but when he did, it was always a precious gift.

I did it also because I was cross that he’d talk dirty to me and then just…leave.

Though he was right, if this happened, neither of us should be under the influence of anything.

Not to mention, there was more to go over (so, so much more).

But still, I missed his taste, his smell, his noises, the way he looked when we made love and him being buried inside me, and it was a dirty trick to remind me I did before he was going to just…leave.

“I’ll toss your wine and clean the glass before I go. And since I brought the key this time, I’ll lock up,” he finished.

“You aren’t pouring out that wine. It’s a full glass. I’m not certain I’ve even taken a sip. I’ll pour it back into the bottle.”

A shadow drifted over his face, and he said, “It’s just a glass of wine, Wyn.”

“And I’m not so tipsy I can’t pour it back into the bottle.”