Oh, Bristol, please don't become one of those women obsessed with getting a ring, I self-admonish.
Because if you can't admonish yourself, who can?
We're in no hurry, and I actually appreciate our pace. The last few months have been . . . I don't even have language for how happy I am. It's contentment sheathed in passion, twisted around the deepest, most honest connection I've ever known. I wish everyone could taste this, could have this. That's when you know you're far gone-when you start wishing everyone else had what you have. I know what it's like to live without it, to live without him. It's lackluster, a pale parallel existence I have no intention of revisiting. We got just a taste of it this summer when he was on tour and I needed to stay behind in LA.
Miserable.
"Does that sound good, Bristol?"
Kevin's question snaps my attention back to the conversation at the table. Now I'm daydreaming? In the middle of a meeting? About proposals and engagement rings and fairy-tale endings?
"Uh, sorry." I split an apologetic glance between Grip and Kevin. "I got distracted. Does what sound good?"
"Grip wanted to reschedule the meeting." Kevin considers the calendar on his phone. "He has a session to get to at the studio, so maybe we can talk about the deal when he has more time."
Does Grip really have a session? Or is he just writing Kevin and this deal off? I try to read between the impassive lines of his face. I want him to give this a chance, despite the awful first impression Kevin made.
"You have a session?" I probe to see what he'll reveal.
His mouth kicks to the left, which usually indicates he's privately laughing at someone.
"Yeah, and don't you have that thing to get to?" He stands, grabbing his helmet and me, gently pulling me up by the elbow. "We both probably need to get out of here. Nice meeting you, Kev."
So that's a no on the session.
"You go to the studio." I pull away, narrowing my eyes at him so he knows I have his number. "I'll close things out with Kevin."
A quick frown clouds his expression. Joke or no joke, he doesn't want to leave me with some guy who was hitting on me just a few minutes ago.
"I can probably skip it." Grip's smile settles into an unyielding line.
"No need." I turn to Kevin. "I'm just gonna walk Grip out. I'll be back to discuss alternate dates."
"Sounds good. Great meeting you, Grip." Kevin picks up the menu and offers a quick smile. "I'll look at dessert."
Grip doesn't move, just keeps staring at Kevin, so I hook my arm through his and lead him out of the restaurant and to the parking lot. Once we reach the spot where his motorcycle is parked, Grip's hands settle on my hips and he pulls me into his chest, locking us together.
"What's up, little shawty?" he teases, running his nose along my neck. "What's your name? You got a man?"
"I do," I answer huskily. "But I could be persuaded. He'll never know."
"The hell." Grip chuckles, nipping my ear and sliding his hand to the small of my back.
"You don't really have a session, do you?" I ask abruptly, breaking the spell he's trying to weave.
"I'm not dealing with this guy, Bris." He pulls back to peer down at my face. "And neither are you. He's trying to have dinner with you? I'm not doing business with that-"
"In his defense," I cut in before he works himself into a lather. "He didn't know I'm taken."
Something flares behind his eyes when I use the word that says I'm his. I knew he'd like that; I'm nothing if not deliberate.
He leans down the few inches separating us until his lips are at my ear. His hands inch up to span my waist, his thumbs subtly, secretively brushing the underside of my breast. My breath hovers in my throat, suspended, and my mouth waters as I remember the taste of him this morning. Me on my knees in the shower, water beating on my shoulders, the long, rigid length of him hitting the back of my throat. His fingers screwed into my hair, holding my head still while he pumped over my tongue, scraped against my lips.
"So you're taken, huh?" He breathes against my neck. As calm as he looks from the outside, I hear the hitch in his breath, feel him hard and pressed into my belly. "I don't see a ring."
I shoot him a sharp glance. We haven't talked about rings and proposals in a while-it hasn't mattered. We practically live together, though we both still have our own places. Anything other than together isn't an option, but his teasing statement makes me wonder if he's started to think about it the way I have. I find myself holding out my hand a few times a day, studying my ring finger, wondering what he would choose for it . . . wondering when he'll ask.
Wondering when it started to matter so much to me. The last thing I want is to make him feel pressured. We've loved each other for years, true, but we haven't been official for long at all.
"Grip, I'm not-"
He palms my throat, thumb on one side of my face, fingers on the other, commanding me, coaxing my mouth open. His tongue sweeps the sensitive lining inside my jaw, over my teeth, around my lips. The sun is high in the sky. Patrons walk past us, coming to and leaving the restaurant. A few gawk. I'm not sure if they recognize Grip or if our PDA al fresco just disconcerts them. The kiss slows to mere brushes of our mouths, my lips pulled between his with tiny tugs and hungry bites. The firm hold he has on my chin softens, and his fingers slide into the hair falling around my neck.
"I had to shut you up because every time I mention rings you start stuttering and saying stupid shit." His eyes smile down at me. "And your mouth kind of hangs open. It's not a good look for you."
A laugh breaks free from me. It's a happy sound, like a caged bird free and singing. That's how I feel sometimes, like for years I walked around locked up, guarding my heart against this man, and now I've been let loose, liberated, kissing in broad daylight on the street and spilling laughter that sounds like a bird's song.
And not giving a damn what anyone thinks about it.
"Oh really?" My smile widens an inch. "I seem to remember you liked my mouth open this morning in the shower."
His chuckle rumbles in the small space separating our bodies.
"Damn, Bris. What am I gonna do with you?"
"You'll figure something out." I prop my forearms on his shoulders, caressing his neck. "You always do."
He studies me for a few long seconds, something changing in his eyes. They sober, the cocky grin falling into a straight line.
"What's wrong?" I cup one side of his face, the slight scruff tickling my palm. One minute we're flirting and teasing, verging on horny, and the next we're . . . not.
"Nothing." He sets his hand over mine against his jaw. "I just missed you today. I miss you when we're apart."
His words settle over my heart, refreshing like rain falling on dry, thirsty ground. I feel it, too. I'm not sure how I kept him at bay for eight years when eight hours away from him makes my chest ache. The look in his eyes . . . there's more to it than what's on the surface, but I'm not sure what. He traces the corner of my mouth.
"You're just trying to distract me," I turn my mouth to kiss the hand touching my face, "from getting back to Kevin."
Grip rolls his eyes, some of the humor returning.
"You seriously think I'm dealing with that dude?" He scoffs a quick rush of air.
"Don't judge the deal by Kevin. I wish you could meet my friend Charisma. She'd be your editor, but she's tied up in New York, and Kevin just happened to be here in LA."
"Maybe we could meet her in New York." Grip's tone is careful and his glance is searching, but I'm not sure what he's looking for. Am I missing something?
"Not any time soon." I sigh, running my thumb over the dark arch of his brows. "Charm's stuck there, and things are way too hectic for me to get away right now."
"Yeah?" Grip twists his lips into a grimace.
"Yeah. Kai's finally about to drop her debut album, and Rhyson's in the studio working on his next project." A sudden smile takes over my face. "I forgot to tell you I got Luke that reality show about the making of his next album."
"Wow." Grip's eyes drop to the ground before he looks back to me. "Yeah, you've got a lot going on here."
"The show's filming in LA for the most part. I need to be on set at least for the initial footage, and don't get me started on everything happening for Jimmi. I may have to hand her off to Sarah, though she'd kill me."
"I get it," Grip says with a small smile. "You're too busy to go to New York."
There it is again. What's that look? Am I talking about work too much? I do that. I get caught up in my career, but I'm lucky enough to make dreams come true for the people I love the most. I never knew how fulfilling it would be, how damn good at it I would be. With every accomplishment, the opportunities double and my ambitions multiply. It's never bothered Grip before, but maybe now that things are busier than they've ever been, he's tired of hearing about my work and how much I love it.