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“That's surprising because you were such a party freak when we were younger,” I challenge.
He nods, still smiling. “Well, you reach your late twenties and realize it's not worth it.”
“A club owner who hates parties. I find that surprising.” There’s a hint of teasing in my tone that I don’t recognize.
“There are a lot of surprising facts about me. I've changed a lot in eight years. I want you to know that.” He looks away, staring into the darkness of the night. “I threw this party for you.”
Words escape me for a beat. But then I ask, “Why?”
He turns to face me. “Because I want to talk to you. Most importantly, I want to talk about the kiss.”
My heart leaps in my chest. He probably wants to apologize and call it a mistake.
“We don't have to talk about it,” I hasten to say before he can beat me to it. “It happened on the spur of the moment.”
“Really?” Suspicion laces his tone.
“Yeah, it was just a kiss. It's a greeting in some cultures.” My attempt at downplaying it is not subtle.
He moves away from the railings, standing straight. “The kiss wasn't a mistake to me, nor was it a mistake to you. You don't make a mistake twice,” he says with so much determination that confuses me before he suddenly leans forward, claiming my lips.
A surprised sound escapes me. I can barely return the kiss when he pulls back, smirking. “That wasn't a mistake either.” He looks at me expectantly.
There are a lot of reasons I should run away. A lot of reasons I should blurt out to him that this is not going to end well. But I want to be reckless just once, so I throw caution to the wind.
I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him. He smiles against my lips, returning it with more vigor. One hand strokes my cheek while the other hand wraps around my waist. My hands reach up to stroke his soft hair.
He suddenly turns us around, and a small gasp leaves my lips as my back meets the wall. The kiss deepens, and my toes curl in my shoes when he flicks his tongue gently, opening my lips wider. I feel dizzy with his taste, his scent, his touch. It's like diving without breaking for air, the world spinning around me.
I feel his bulge press against me, and the dizzying mist in my head starts to clear. Unable to ignore the growing need for oxygen, I pull back, eyes wide, breathing heavily. My lips are burning.
His hand moves down my jaw, following the gentle sloping lines.
“Gianna.” His hoarse voice sends tingles down my spine.
“Where is this going?” I blurt out messily. My legs feel a bit weak.
“I don’t know.” He answers, his fingers tracing my lips. “But I want to find out. Because I like this. I like this a lot.”
“I like this too.”
Chapter 8
Chris
“You have been ignoring my calls and texts. I'm a little bit angry with you because of that.” Jessica playfully punches my chest and sips her glass of vodka.
“You know why,” I reply, looking around the room for a glimpse of Gianna. I haven't seen her all night, and she isn't with Nala either.
“But we are still friends. Friends keep in touch. They don't make things awkward,” she presses.
My eyes snap back to hers and I can still see the adoring look in her eye. The main reason I created a distance between us. “Friends who want to stay purely friends keep in touch,” I correct.
She scoffs. “You are being hard on me, Chris. Is it a crime that I want to hear your voice or even see you?”
I shake my head, eyes still flickering around, hoping to catch a glimpse of Gianna. “No, but you know I'm doing us both a favor by creating a distance. We won't get past it if we continue doing this.”
There's no day I don't regret sleeping with Jess. I let one night of weakness destroy our friendship and let the subsequent ones completely wreck it. If I had known she harbored feelings for me, I wouldn't have slept with her, and we would be okay now.
