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"Duly noted. And I’m sorry, that's rough," he said sympathetically.
"Eh, it all worked out in the end."
"So, what happened to him?"
"I don't know, and I don't care."
He nodded, a slow smile curving his lips.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked.
"Like what?"
"Like I'm an ice cream cone you can't wait to lick."
"You're funny."
"I'm not joking," I said. "It's distracting and makes it hard to keep this thing between us real not real."
He paused for a moment, his gaze dropping from me to his wine, which he cradled with two hands. "I'm struggling with it too. It's why I said what I said last weekend. I'm not sure what's real."
"Well, it's not like we have feelings for each other. Right?" I hedged, hating the uncertainty in my voice.
"Right," he replied, his expression serious, eyes locked on mine.
"Then it shouldn't be too hard."
"It shouldn't." His actions said otherwise, and he moved closer to me. "But…"
"But," I echoed, my heart hanging on the cliff, knowing his next words would either pull me up or kick me off.
"I can't stop thinking about kissing you."
"Kissing is nice," I said lamely, my throat dry and heart beating erratically in my chest.
He leaned forward, his hand reaching up and cupping my cheek, his thumb gently grazing my skin.
"Yeah," he agreed, his lips brushing mine, once, twice.
"Feels pretty real to me," I whispered and then he silenced me, kissing me senseless.
He pushed me against the couch, his lips hot and insistent. His hand fisted my hair and tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck.
"Jake," I said breathlessly as he nibbled my skin.
"I want you," he growled.
"Then take me," I said, and his eyes went dark.
"You have no idea what you're asking for," he said, his hand slipping beneath my sweater and stroking my stomach.
"I think I do," I said, and arched into his touch.
He groaned and pulled away, standing abruptly and running a hand through his hair.
"I can't." He turned and walked out of the living room.
I sat there staring at the wall, my body humming with desire and confusion.
