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I need to tell him.
I need him to know and to stay.
To still love me.
Does he love me now?
I don't know. I'm sure he loves me as a friend, that he has for a long time, but this whole in love thing is new. Confusing.
He reaches for me. His arm slides around my waist. In one quick motion, he pulls me inside his.
He stares down at me with those intense, dark eyes. Right now, I know exactly what's in them. Affection. Trust. Need.
His eyelids flutter together.
He leans down.
I rise to my tiptoes.
Our lips brush. Just barely. But it's enough to fill my body with warmth. With need. With love.
My fingers go slack. My bag hits the hardwood floor with a light thud. It's loud enough to wake Emma, but I don't care.
I don't care about anything but getting my hands in his thick, dark hair.
I don't care about anything but kissing him back.
He tastes like whiskey. It shouldn't taste good, but it does. It tastes like him.
I kiss him harder.
Deeper.
I shift my hips against his. Tug at his hair. Groan against his lips.
He feels better than he tastes.
He's everything I want.
Well, almost.
I can't risk that.
But, then, I can't swallow this down much longer.
I kiss him until my lips are numb. When I finally come up for air, he's staring back into my eyes.
"Nice to see you too." He pulls the elastic band from my hair, undoing my ponytail. "Work good?"
"Busy." I have to tell you something. I'm broken. I know you won't believe me, so let me explain. I rise to my tiptoes. Kiss him again. Anything to keep the words from spilling.
He untucks my shirt. Undoes the top button. Then the next. His fingers brush my collarbones. My chest. My stomach.
I need those hands on my body.
I need one more time pressed against him—just in case he doesn't keep loving me.
Just in case he runs away.
