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“To...” he said in a near whisper, his eyes on my mouth.
“To... whatever this was...?”
“Steinbeck,” was all he said as his lips found mine. The teasing nip of his teeth, the slide of his tongue, the way his hands traced up my thighs and flexed for grip. It was familiar and comfortable, this sweet pull of lust, and I reached for his face, wanting to feel his hard jaw as I held him in place.
“It’s probably not a good idea,” he said against my lips, raising his hands to push the hair from my face.
My thighs missed the pressure of his hands immediately, the hot familiarity of his grip on me.
“It’s not,” I said, meaning it as a question, but it came out as a sigh as he lifted his lips off mine.
I could still feel them, hovering just above my mouth as if waiting for a word or a command that would change his mind. His eyes were dark and unreadable, gazing down at me, and my fingers itched to pull him back.
“So we’ll just,” he said, lowering his hands, “not do that anymore. Right?”
I felt like I was waking up from a dream as I wrestled with being disappointed that we weren’t kissing and utterly blown away by his confession that he thought he could fall for me. I cleared my throat. “Correct.”
“We can still play it up for social media and everyone else, though, since it seems to be working.” He turned his stool backto the counter, stood, and went over to the refrigerator, moving with that long, relaxed gait that made it seem like nothing concerned him.
“Absolutely,” I said, gathering my wits about me and standing.
“You sure you don’t want a beer?” He opened the industrial-size fridge and grabbed one for himself.
“No, thanks, I should get going.” I needed to get out of there. Why did I feel so shaky?
“Any shot of you letting me go with you, just to make sure you get home okay?” he asked.
“Nope,” I said, needing a little distance. “I’ve got Mace and I steer clear of dark alleys.”
“And you’ve got that headlock,” he said, giving me a knowing smile as we both remembered that first wedding. “I pity the idiot who tries messing with you.”
“Right.” I picked up my phone and opened Spotify, returning to where I’d been in my running playlist as he came back to my side. “RIP them.”
“Wait.” His finger slid over my app, searching until he found another playlist. “Try mine.”
I tried taking a deep breath, but my lungs seemed to be broken as I looked up at his face, so close as he messed with my phone. His finger traced over my screen, and my eyes followed, fixated on the motion, my heartbeat trapped in my throat as I remembered the way his fingertips felt on my skin.
His knowing eyes lifted to mine, and his voice was soft when he said, “There. Give that a shot.”
“Ah, thanks.”
As I ran home on shaky legs, Max’s music pounding in my ears, I couldn’t get things right in my head. Everything he said made perfect sense and it was the correct way for us to proceed, not carrying on with the physical part of our relationship.
But for some reason, it felt wrong. Maybe it was just because it’d been so good between us, but it felt like we were cutting something important from our relationship, like we were losing a closeness, even though that something hadn’t even been a part of our relationship before.
Although, shit, we didn’t have a relationship at all, did we?
Clearly I was tired, because words likerelationshipwere entering my thoughts when it came to me and Max.
Which was absurd.
We were just friends.
And that was all.
Right?
thirty-five
