I clear my throat, sitting back against the couch cushion, and savoring the ambiance.
“You’ve changed, Miles.”
Her statement has my brows furrowing. “Changed?”
Sutton wiggles into the corner of the couch, a good three feet from me. When she twists to face me in a cross-legged posture, my eyes focus on her satiny bare legs. If I were here on a date or post-date nightcap, and if she were any other woman, I would plant my hand on her knee, slowly caress her inner thigh until my fingers nudge under the material of her panties and sink deep inside her wet folds.
But this isn’t a date. I don’t even know what this is. I’m honestly confused and torn by the pull I feel from her. My voice is rough-edged and throaty when I respond to her comment. “How do you figure?”
She tips her chin innocently, staring into the glass in her hand, as I gaze at the valley between her cleavage. The tank she wears leaves little to the imagination, and the way her taut nipples poke through the material has me wondering if this affects her as much as it does me.
She arches an eyebrow and peers at me over her glass.
“You’re just different.” She shakes her head and shrugs a shoulder. A shoulder on display that I’d love to sink my teeth into. “You’ve matured, but it’s more than that. You live in a fancy apartment, you dress in expensive suits, you drink pricey bottles of wine. I don’t know, you’re not the same guy I used to know. And honestly, you’ve been a jerk to me.”
Isn’t that the truth? That nice guy she’s talking about left the building a long time ago. Taking my heart and soul with him.
But I don’t say that.
“I know, and I’m sorry about that. We all grow up and change, Button. It’s life. And for me, I’ve become…well, I guess hard-edged. But look at you. You’re barely recognizable from the younger Sutton I remember. You’re a gorgeous woman now on the cusp of her life.”
I raise my brows salaciously, giving her the barest hint of a smile, my gaze roaming over her chest and body, down to her legs and back up again. My scrutiny seems to have the intended outcome. Goosebumps line her arms, and I notice a flush rise across her neck and cheeks. I raise my wine glass to take another sip.
“You called me beautiful and sexy when you kissed me. Did you mean it, or was it just the liquor talking?”
My hand stops midway to my mouth, lips parted, and mind turning blank. Her question ricochets around in my head like a pinball, knocking it to the corners of my mind before bouncing back and stopping.
I forgot that I meant to ask her what had gone down between us last Saturday night. But I got busy, had to rush out of town, and then didn’t see her until today when it was the furthest thing from my mind.
I’m fairly certain we didn’t sleep together, but there has been a niggling and hazy memory clinging to the back of my mind. It refused to unveil itself to me, but it’s lingered there like a ghost of a touch.
“Sutton, I was not my best self that night. It was Mel’s birthday, and I drank so much, I blacked out. I promise that does not happen frequently, but I remember little of what happened. And sadly, it means I don’t recall kissing you,” I say, and set my wineglass down on the table.
Her face speaks of rejection, and it kills me to have wounded her in this way.
I reach out my hand, placing it on the bend of her knee, the nerve endings in my fingers hyperactive and sensitive to the heat of her skin. Skimming my thumb along the curve of her kneecap, I sweep long strokes over her soft flesh, hoping the touch will reassure her as to how I feel.
“Button, I may not remember the other night, but I can tell you one thing. . .” I stare at her lips for a beat and lick mine in hopeful preparation. “They say a drunken mind speaks a sober heart. And I think you’re so fucking beautiful it turns me inside out, whether drunk or sober. There is nothing I want more than to kiss you again.”
Leaning forward, I remove her wineglass from her hand and place it next to mine. Then I lift her downcast chin with my finger and peruse her face. I want her to hear and see my conviction.
“The next time I kiss you, Button, I promise it will remain etched in my memory forever.”
21
Sutton
When I was thirteen,I’d been walking home from Mel’s, passing by the Dairy Queen one hot summer day. I’d babysat the night before and had a couple bucks in my pocket and decided I would treat myself to an ice cream cone.
It had old-fashioned, walk-up “order” and “pick up” windows, so after placing my order, I moved to the pickup window to wait. When I did, some noises from around the corner of the building caught my attention. Being the little Nancy Drew teen investigator that I was, I put on my spy-persona and peered around the old brick facade to find Miles making out with Carli Pfeiffer, one of the DQ employees.
Although there was very little breathing room, Miles held a small vanilla cone between them, one arm perched above her head to prop him up and cage her in. With rapt attention, I watched them as he brought the cone to Carli’s mouth and she flicked her tongue out over the top of it, moaning like a dog during a belly rub when her tongue connected with the frosty treat.
I watched as Miles pressed his body flush with hers, flattening Carli against the building, before he swiped his tongue along the cone with hers, and then sealed his mouth against her lips.
My body reacted in a way that I’d learned from my catechism teacher was “lustful” and “ungodly,” which immediately filled me with shame. But I couldn’t stop the hot tingles that vibrated between my legs unbidden or the envy over Carli, who got that attention from Miles—my unrequited crush.
Apparently, that feeling hasn’t changed one bit, only now I’m on the receiving end of Miles’s attention. And now I can attest to what Carli must have felt that scorching summer day against the DQ wall.
