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Chapter Nineteen
They lapsed into silence on the drive home. The air in the car felt like it was full of static, like it would shock her if she breached the invisible barrier between them.
She kept casting furtive looks at him. He was kicked way back in his seat to make space for his long arms and legs, with his right hand resting on top of the steering wheel. Every once in a while he’d glance over at her, and the way his eyes glittered made her stomach feel tight.
His car smelled like coffee. It was newish. A luxury sedan with a sunroof and leather seats. She assumed his parents had given it to him—one of their hand-me-downs, maybe. The back seat was littered with discarded cardboard coffee cups from a cafe in Westwood where he went to write during the day when he wasn’t in class.
Esther had the urge to open his glove box, just to see what was in there. Moleskine notebooks and Pilot pens, probably. She wanted to dig one of his notebooks out of the glove box and flip through the pages, soaking up all his stray thoughts and absentminded doodles. She wanted to peel away his layers like an onion, digging deep into the substratum to the foundation underneath. She wanted a peek at his most secret, innermost desires. The ones he kept locked away in his heart.
Instead of indulging her desire to snoop, she kept her hands folded primly in her lap and crossed her legs at the ankles to stop them from jiggling. Why was she so nervous? She wasn’t sure what she thought was going to happen. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to happen. The warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach wanted one thing, but her brain was telling her something else.
This shouldn’t happen. She had a clear sense of the right and wrong of the situation. Seducing your best friend’s ex was wrong, even if they’d only gone out a few times.
Wasn’t it?
Esther uncrossed her legs and turned her face to the side window for the rest of the drive home.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into his assigned parking space between her Prius and a white metal pole covered with scuff marks. He came around to open her door for her and followed her upstairs with his hands in his pockets, jingling his keys as he walked.
They slowed to a stop in front of his apartment door, and she shifted nervously as he turned to face her. She wasn’t ready for the evening to end yet, but she was scared of what might happen next.
“Thank you for tonight,” she said to fill the loaded silence. She was having trouble meeting his eyes. Now that they’d been freed from the confines of the car, she’d lost the urge to peer into his psyche. She was too afraid of what she might find there. Afraid she might not be able to resist it.
He shifted closer. “Did you really have fun?” He was looming over her, crowding her a little. She shouldn’t like it, but she did.
Instead of moving away, she moved closer. She couldn’t help herself. He was warm, and he smelled nice. The scent reminded her of a library in an old house. Not like a real library—those smelled like paper dust. He smelled the way she’d imagined old libraries should smell when she was kid. Full of secrets and magic, like the wardrobe in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. She wanted to bury her face in his scent. Crawl inside the wardrobe and see what adventures lay ahead.
“I did.” She let herself look into his eyes. They were bright and inviting. Brimming with promise. “I really did.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am. I didn’t think I could have fun at a party where I didn’t know anyone.”
“You know me.”
“That’s true,” she said, still gazing into his eyes. “I do know you.” He had amazing eyelashes. Long and thick. Any woman would sell her soul for eyelashes like that.
“Do you want to come inside?” he asked.
Yes. She wanted that. She wanted him. Every atom in her body was vibrating with it.
“What’s inside?” she asked, trying to play coy. Stalling for time. Her brain was fizzing in her ears, like her head was full of Pop Rocks.
“Me.” He wasn’t playing coy. He was staring at her mouth.
She stared back. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. His mouth moved closer.
When their lips met, the fizzing in her brain got even louder. He tasted malty, like the beer he’d been drinking. His beard felt rough, but his lips were velvety soft. Gentle as a whisper.
She wasn’t prepared for it to feel so good. Usually, when she kissed someone it was fine. Not unpleasant, but not all that exciting either. Usually, it was easy for her to stop kissing someone.
Kissing Jonathan wasn’t like that. It was magnetic. Addictive. It made her want to kiss him even more. It made her want to kiss him a lot more, like a junkie itching for another hit.
Her hands curled into the front of his shirt as his palms spread out over the small of her back. His fingers were so long, they almost spanned her whole waist.
She pressed her mouth against his harder, aching for more. Nipping at his lower lip. Chasing his tongue with hers. His arms tightened around her, pulling her flush against his hips, and she moaned with pleasure. One of his hands curled into her hair, holding the back of her neck, sending shivers skittering down her spine.
Pornographic images flashed through her mind. Her mouth on his skin: teasing, taunting, tasting. His long fingers sliding into her. Sweaty, trembling limbs and labored breaths.
