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Dude, leave.
But I’m sitting on her bed.
I’m sitting on her bed.
I’m sitting on her bed, looking at her from an angle only a few privileged men should be able to. It won’t be me — it can never be me.
But it should also never be him.
“Not him,” I say out loud.
For a moment, she does nothing. It’s as if I got away with it and she never heard me at all until her eyes open.
“What?” she asks.
“Not him.” Too late to go back now. “Not Emerson.”
Dana’s confusion only lasts a moment before a little alertness returns to her eyes. “Emerson...”
“Anyone but him,” I say.“Please.”
She pushes up onto an elbow, sloppily. “You think I’m gonnahave sexwith Emerson Floyd?”
“Keep your voice down,” I whisper, one ear on the door.
“God, Connor.”Her expression twists, disgusted. “Why would you even?—”
“You were smiling at him.”
“I smile all the time.”
“Not like that.”
“I’d never let him touch me,” she says, her head falling to the pillow again. “Never...”
I go quiet, too embarrassed to reply. Perhaps I misjudged that moment, though I damn sure don’t trust Emerson not to try.
See you around, princess.
My blood boils just thinking about the way he said that.
“Then who?”
I look down, Dana’s voice barely audible on the bed. “What?”
“You obviously have an opinion,” she says, pushing up onto her elbow again. “If not Emerson. If not you...then who?”
I hover in the moment, unable to think of an alternative. Even if I could, I’m not sure I could stomach the mental image at all.
In the silence, in the dark, I feel her slender fingers graze mine. My breath holds, her touch tender and warm. Comforting and alarming. Right and wrong.
Very wrong.
“Dana,” I whisper, a word of warning.
Her lips touch mine in a sudden, startling kiss.
I hadn’t noticed that she’d drifted so close. Or perhaps I did, but I didn’t want to stop her. Either way, I don’t move, too stunned to think. To react. But I feel.
