They’d danced. He’d joked. She’d fielded smug and nosy looks from her friends.
And then they’d gone home separately.
Not to say she hadn’t been tempted to set up an assignation right then. But her conference proposal wasn’t going to type itself. And if she was going to change her mind—damn, but her body voted for her to change her mind—she was going to do it because she was sure in her decision, not because his body moved around hers like a caressing wind.
What had she told Rachel, back when her friend was newly smitten with Theo? To stop making lists of everything he wasn’t, and start making lists of what she desired in a partner. It hadn’t been enough that Theo wasn’t like her snivel-snouted ex. The essential thing was to identify her own wants and needs.
Same thing applied now.
Stumbling towards bed with Vic the previous week had come down to heat and lack of inhibition and a cinderblock-dense wall between thinking about the one night and thinking about the long term. And none of that was … reasoned. Careful. Nuanced. Wise.
Vic could do his bouncing into her world claiming he was set on them having a relationship, but that didn’t mean she had to agree. Even if the tingly parts of her wanted to bounce right back and get naked with him. Above all else, Gill worked to put her head in control of the desires of her heart. She hadn’t ended up with a Ph.D. and a tenure-track position and panel discussion invites because she threw darts in the general direction of her milestones. She assessed the things she wanted and researched ways to achieve them and brainstormed the best paths for her to get there.
When Sonja from grad school got that book contract and when Emil’s university tapped him to help develop a new minor program, she didn’t bemoan their luck or wallow in envy. She analyzed what parts of their success were important to her, and listed ways she could adapt her trajectory to incorporate those elements.
So after Nat’s wedding, she went home. Alone. Texted Vic that she would set something up with him in a few days.
And after giving her head a few days to wrest control of things, her headstrong heart up and invited him to come by so they could talk. His return text showed up before she had second-guessing time. He was bringing tacos. Her headstrong heart noted that on the ‘pro’ side in the list her hardhearted mind wasn’t done filling out.
Every bit of her was forced to concede that take-out from Torchy’s Tacos was a pro move.
But it wasn’t enough to tip the scales. Lucky for her heart, the scales were already in favor of exploring a relationship with Vic.
Well, ‘relationship.’ Fling. A bit of dating. She mostly bought his theory about Anton’s blessing. Bought that they were all three adults—inasmuch as a couple of men in their late twenties qualified as adult. And never mind how unfair that sentiment was. She’d known too many men in their late twenties over the years. Sure, they were better than men in their early twenties. By a vast degree. Less of a monolith of self-focus and short-sightedness. Far less apt to remind her of her students. Or of the afternoon she kept the gals in stitches composing the excuses several of her past dates would have come up with for needing extensions on their research papers.
She’d seen up close how Anton had grown and settled over the past couple of years. Become someone who looked past his own needs to the wider world. Whatever was happening with Cisco, she expected he would emerge whole on the other side. She didn’t think he’d break if she and Vic were a thing. Or not a thing. Or a giant tangled mess, making navigating relationships for everyone fraught until they’d all gotten some distance.
So probably Vic was more adult in his approach to life now, too. And since she’d determined to have a relationship with her brother based on them both being grown-ass people, she could extend the same grace to her little brother’s best friend.
Which, as her headstrong heart pointed out, meant she needed to trust Vic knew what he was about when he said things like, “Let’s be a couple, let’s be in a relationship. Let’s have sex.”
Leaving her hardhearted mind to just wrestle into submission the question of if she wanted any—or all—of the things he was offering.
He’d never been more tempted to knock on Anton’s door instead of Gillian’s. Ton would welcome him in, pass over a beer and some napkins, and tuck into the tacos without asking anything of him. Or expecting him to voice his deepest desires. Or rejecting him.
But no.
He was here for Gillian, and Ton couldn’t save him from whatever she’d decided. So he marshaled his arguments, and his courage, and knocked on her door.
She was wearing her standard not-work outfit of yoga pants and a tee, and her lipstick color of the day gleamed like sweet honey, and he wanted.
Must have been standing frozen like a popsicle, cause she reached over to poke his shoulder. “You coming in?”
If the stars shaped themselves in his favor, he sure as hell was. What a sugar-stream of lust and innuendo and longing he was. He peeled all his melting emotions up off the porch and crossed her threshold.
Tacos. First thing was tacos. “Got carnitas, fried avocado, and a couple of those blackened salmon ones.”
If he could magic the hunger in her expression to apply to him instead of dinner, he’d be able to relax. But he resolved—again—to follow her lead instead of starting the evening already arguing for why his plans for them were the best plans she could ever hear.
So he followed her past the cluttered, bookcase-lined living room to her cluttered, paper-strewn dining table. “Let me clear away this grading. Can you grab some plates and stuff from the kitchen?”
He found space to set down the take-out bag and moved to comply. The kitchen was, as always, the tidiest space in her house. Probably it was hard to break the habits instilled by the Bellamy parents—he’d found himself going about their after-meal cleaning routines often enough in his own home. He’d only eaten about a third of his dinners with them over the years, but their regulated systems and insistence on everyone pitching in stuck to him. And stuck in his craw, as he got into his teen years and noticed how differently his own folks treated household matters.
At least on their Catalina they couldn’t keep near as much outdated junk, and they knew maintaining the boat was essential in a way they’d never considered with the house. He’d paid them not much for the house itself, when they up and decided to live on the water, but so much of his savings went into basic repairs he wasn’t able to upgrade his darkroom equipment nearly as soon as he’d hoped.
He recycled the beer caps and tucked a roll of paper towels under his elbow. Gillian sat at the head of the table, a space to her right clear for him. He was watching, maybe too close, but he saw the lift of pleasure in her eyes when he entered. Couldn’t attribute that to tacos—that was all for him.
It didn’t suck, feeling her eyes on his body as he approached.
They paid maybe too much attention to doling out the tacos, testing the Scoville level of the salsas, checking each other were happy with their choices. He knew why he did it—he’d told her the decision was hers, and she’d hardly have faith in him if the first chance he got he started demanding she play things his way.
He could only hope her reasons didn’t spell utter doom for his heart.
Gill made happy-eating sounds as she polished off a green chili and pulled pork taco, and sat back to sip her longneck. She was so relaxed, so whole in herself. So complete and complex and compelling.
And she traced his forearm with a finger cool from the beer bottle.
His toes curled, as did his lips. “Good food?”
“The best. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” He cleared his throat so it might seem like his voice had been caught up with spiciness instead of gruff with meaning. “I can even bring queso next time.”
“Tempting.” Now her voice was the one colored with meaningful hues.
“You mean that?”
Her fingers came to a rest on the inside of his wrist. She likely could feel the thrum of his pulse. “I do.”
He swallowed. Blinked some bravery into his chest. Stated what he hoped was a fact. “This means you’ve made a choice.”
And waited, breath shallow, for her confirmation.