Page 111 of Reeves

When my lips touch hers, the world stops moving. Six years collapse into nothing, as if no time has passed. Every mission, every deployment, every night I told myself I'd made the right choice by leaving disappears.

This is what I ran from.

Not commitment. Not responsibility.

This.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, like we're both testing the water. Then her lips part slightly, and everything changes. She tastes like beer, warm and sweet, but underneath that, there's purely Charli. Something I remember in my bones.

My hands slide from the chair to her face, fingers threading through her hair. It's still as soft as I remember. She makes this small sound, and it hits me straight in the gut.

Fuck.

My body remembers everything. The way she leans into me. How her breath catches when I deepen the kiss. The way her fingers grip my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away.

Heat spreads through me, down to my stomach. My pulse pounds in my ears. My dick presses against my shorts.

She breaks away first, just barely, her forehead resting against mine. We're both breathing hard.

"We can't do this."

Her voice is rough, but she doesn't move away. Her hands are still twisted in my shirt.

"Why not?"

Because you'll leave again. Because I have Benjy to think about. Because this hurts too much.

She doesn't say any of those things, but I hear them anyway.

"Because nothing's changed."

"Everything's changed."

I brush my thumb across her cheek. Her eyes flutter closed at the touch.

Her hand comes up to rest against my jaw, her petite fingers cool against my skin. I want to sink into her. I remember now why walking away from her felt impossible.

Then she pulls all the way back.

"Reeves, I'm sorry. We can't."

Her voice is steady, but I can see the pulse jumping in her neck.

"Charli."

"No." She shakes her head, but she doesn't move away completely. Her hand is still touching my face. "I have to think about Benjy, now."

She's right.

I know she's right. I'm leaving in five days. She has a life here, a stable life. The kind of life she always wanted and I could never give her.

That is why we didn't work before. And she's right, nothing with regards to that has changed. If it has, it's only widened that gulf.

But sitting here in the soft glow of her porch light, with her fingers still warm against my skin, I can't remember why that matters.

I pull back immediately, reading the conflict in her eyes.

Shit. Too fast, too much.