Almost Married(2)

By: Kylie Gilmore

She’d just gotten to the “A” when he took her hands in his, bringing them down from over her head to the front of her. “Steph, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She smiled and kept dancing. “Thanks, Dave!” she hollered over the music. She did the Y again and the M, missed the C, and jumped in again with the A.

“I really mean that.” A lock of hair fell over his forehead.

She smiled and pushed his hair back into its side part just as the song hit the chorus. The crowd joined in, singing at the top of their lungs, drowning out Dave’s next words.

“What? I can't hear you!” Steph shouted above the crowd.

“I said I love you!” he shouted.

“Oh!” She stopped dancing in her surprise. Before she could reply, he kissed her. His hands cradled her face as his mouth claimed hers in that slow, thorough way of his. The rowdy music and dancing faded away as heat flooded her. His tongue mated with hers, and she fisted her hands in his hair, wishing fervently his hands would move to other very interested parts of her body.

He released her, and she gazed at him—at his side part, his sweet turned-on face, right down to his navy suit with the New Balance sneakers. Through the haze of champagne and vodka and lust, it hit her with the same shock as her evil cat, Loki, leaping on her head in the middle of the night. Dave was a keeper. She loved him.

She opened her mouth to tell him so. He put his finger to her lips. “You don't have to say anything. I don't expect you to say it just because I did. I just wanted you to know.”

She bit his finger.


“I love you too, you big dork.” That earned her another kiss.

Dave pulled back, and they gazed into each other's eyes. She beamed at him.

He grinned. “Fantastic.”

“Yes!” Then she danced some more, using him as her personal stripper pole again. She was five foot ten and loved that she could actually look up at him without the heels. It made her feel less Amazon-like. He watched her with half-hooded eyes. She couldn’t wait for after the reception. She was sure Dave would be just as slow and thorough in bed as he was when he kissed her. That could be very, very good. Many disco songs and a lot of champagne later, she left the reception hand-in-hand with Dave.

She floated on a happy cloud as Dave pulled her along to his car, practically running. Boy, someone was in a hurry. She giggled to herself. Something was nagging at her brain. Like a hornet circling her head, waiting to sting. Something she needed to tell Dave.

She frowned. Griffin. She needed to tell him about Griffin.

Dave opened the car door for her, but before she could get in, he pressed her against the side of the car and gave her a scorching kiss that made her want to rip his suit off and muss up his neat hair. Just when she was wrapping her leg around his, he broke the kiss.

She put her leg down. “I like your enthusiasm,” she told him, planting a smacking kiss on his clean-shaven cheek. He turned, meeting her lips for another scorching kiss, and she forgot all about Griffin.

He stepped back, and she wobbled a bit.

His eyebrows scrunched down adorably. “How much have you had to drink?”

She'd lost count. This lovely tuxedoed waiter had been hovering around the dance floor. He always seemed to be there when her glass was empty. “Mostly champagne. I'm fine. Let's go back to my place. It’s time you saw the inside.” She giggled over her little joke. Dave would see the inside of her apartment and her. Yay!

He nodded slowly, looking a little too serious for her giddy state. He loved her! She loved him! Tonight was the night!

They drove the few blocks to an old Victorian in Clover Park that had been converted into apartments. She grabbed his hand and led him to her upstairs apartment. Once inside, she launched herself into his arms. “Take me, Dave, I'm yours.”

~ ~ ~

Dave groaned as he wrapped his arms around Steph and wished he didn't have a conscience. He'd been hard from the moment he’d seen Steph in this curve-fitting dress with the stiletto heels. His eyes had done multiple tours of her ample cleavage, her narrow waist, and the curve of her hips leading down to those long legs in stilettos. Honestly, he’d been hard from the very first moment they met at that teachers’ conference. Steph taught fifth grade and had attended his workshop on preparing fifth graders for middle school with the new math standards. Steph was gorgeous—long, silky brown hair, hazel eyes, full pouty lips, and that body. Any guy would want her. But the biggest turn-on for him was her brain. Steph had graduated summa cum laude from Columbia, which meant an SAT score above 2100. Their children would be beautiful and smart.

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