I got bashed in the head and almost died

--I moved in, and as cliché as it sounds, the bed has felt empty without him. I’ve missed his soapy hands moving over my shoulders and chest during my morning shower, and the bump of his hip against mine at the sink. I’ve missed watching him match suit with tie, and shoes with suit. I’ve missed feeling his eyes on me as I bus tables in the diner. I’ve missed late-night movies with low-fat, no-butter, no-taste popcorn. I’ve missed his lips roaming over my skin, claiming every part of me.

So I find myself trying to make his homecoming special, even though I know Brian would snort and roll his eyes if he knew. How to greet him is particularly vexing. Naked and wanton on the bed? Wearing one of the outfits he bought me for the trip?

In the end the decision is taken away from me, because Brian’s flight lands early and when the loft door slides open, I’m on the phone with Daphne, arguing the merits of the white linen pants over the white denim cut-offs.

“Honey, I’m home,” he sing-songs mockingly, and I’m not even sure I say Goodbye before I’m tossing the phone on the counter and leaping towards his open arms. Everything else I’ve missed comes flooding back in a rush -- the press of his chest against mine, the splay of his fingers on the back of my neck, the firm grip of his hand on my hip, the scent of his shampoo, the taste of cigarettes on his tongue. I want to wrap myself up in him.

I pull back, laughing. “How was it? Did you have a great time?”

“It was amazing, as always,” Brian says. “I caught...”

Brian trails off, and I take the opportunity to skim his shirt up, tracing a path lightly with my fingers on the sliver of flesh. He’s entirely too clothed. I grin up at him when he shivers at my touch. “You caught?” I prompt.

Brian lifts a shoulder. “A slight cold, but skinny dipping at two a.m. will do that to you.” He captures my roving hands and starts walking me backwards toward the bedroom, releasing my hands only so he can slip my shirt over my head. The air is cool on my exposed skin, but Brian’s breath is warm. He slides his tongue over my nipple before raising his eyes to mine. “How was the wedding?” he drawls.

“Really cool!” I tell him as we glide up the stairs. “Lindsay and Melanie wrote their own vows--”

“Yeah,” Brian says, pushing me back onto the bed and waving his hand airily at my pants. I hastily shuck them, sparing myself a moment to wish I had been wearing the linen. “I had the misfortune of hearing all seventeen versions of Lindsay’s.”

“And Emmett cried. I totally knew he would! Oh! And Michael and Ted made up.”

Brian screws up his face. “They were fighting?”

I manage to hold back the sigh. “And guess what? I caught the bouquet!”

Brian pauses with his jeans half unbuttoned, and glances up at me. “Huh.”

“I gave it to Debbie, though. You should have seen her, she practically bawled. You’d have thought I gave her a million dollars or something!”

Brian strips out of his jeans and straddles me on the bed. Something else to add to the list of Things I’ve Missed.

“Are you still talking?” he asks. “Don’t you have something else to do with that mouth?”