All In Good Time - A Time Travel Beatles Fanfiction

Track 17 - The Night Before

The second Paul opened his eyes, Lainey was ready. She twisted her fingers in the pillowcase and drew a breath.

"I shouldn't have kissed you. You know, before we fell asleep. I don't want you to think I'm down with us hooking up again. I don't normally do this."

He blinked at her, his dark eyes registering surprise, then confusion, then interest. She felt her cheeks flush. Maybe she should have started with "good morning."

She licked her lips and started over. "I mean, the other night, we were sort of caught up in the ambiance...the moonlight and ocean, and maybe a little drunk. I don't normally hook up with guys when I know there's no future, well, apart from those few wild months when I first went away to college, but you know what that's like, right? Anyway, lately I've been so focused on art school and working that I've only had time for occasional random dates and one serious boyfriend. I don't want you to think I'm into casual sex because you and I are all business now. Taking care of business. So I shouldn't have kissed you."

He took in her blur of words, his liquid gaze focused on her.

"Hello."

His voice sounded low and husky, and Lainey remembered why she'd fallen into bed with him in the first place. And why she kept wanting to do it again, when she knew better.

"Hi," she said, feeling ridiculously awkward. "Hello. Hi there."

He smiled, and her heart somersaulted.

"You didn't bolt this time. That's progress."

"What?"

"The last time we went to bed together, I woke up alone."

"You woke up just after me this time," she pointed out.

"Is that what I have to do to keep you here?"

Lainey had no answer. She merely looked at him—the sleep-tousled hair, the stubble-shadowed cheeks, his perfect mouth—and tried to wrap her mind around the fact that she was here, and he seemed to want to keep her here.

He sat up in bed, closed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms in a way that reminded Lainey of how it felt to have those muscled arms on either side of her body, pinning her to the mattress as she gasped and writhed beneath him.

He opened his eyes and focused on her. "You're staring."

"Oh. Sorry."

He smiled. "Don't be. About anything."

She swallowed. "So, what I was saying was—"

He grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close and making her forget whatever excuse she was formulating.

"What do you say we skip this bit," he suggested.

"Which bit?" She squirmed against him, stopping when her hip bumped against something rigid.

"I missed you yesterday, Lainey. It drove me mad, wondering if you'd come back and knowing I couldn't reach you if you didn't. But here you are. So what do you say we skip the bit where we pretend we were drunk and we regret it and we wouldn't do it again. Because I wasn't and I don't and I would. Over and over."

Her pulse skittered madly at his words, or maybe it was from being this close to him. He placed his hand heavily on her stomach, and she shivered, in spite of the warmth of his palm through her shirt. What was he saying? If he didn't consider her a one-night stand, then what? A weekend fling?

She bit her lip, trying to find the right words. "See, the thing is, the other night, although it was very lovely, was a bad idea."

His eyes narrowed. "How so?"