The sun set hours ago, taking the worst of our hangovers with it. We spent the day holed up in the suite—napping on separate sides of the couch, ordering takeout, half-watching whatever’s trending on Netflix—neither of us willing to step back out into the sun with our skin still baked from yesterday.
We both agreed that we needed a day to recover.
I haven’t kissed Meadow again since last night. But fuck… I’ve wanted to.
Every time she fell asleep against the couch pillows, brushed past me in the kitchen, or laughed softly at something on the TV, I had to fight the urge not to crush my lips to hers.
But the timing hasn’t felt right. She was either trying to sleep, nibbling on crackers as if it were a chore, or watching the clock,counting down the minutes until she could take more Tylenol for her throbbing headache.
Thankfully, she seems to be feeling much better now.
I look down at the couple of inches of couch between us, making me hyper-aware of the space I want to eliminate.
She’s not close enough. I don’t think she could ever be.
I want Meadow leaning into me, her back resting against my chest as I hold her body between my legs. I want my arms around her waist, so close I can feel every breath she takes.
Instead, we’re sitting here watching a movie—barely touching and acting like I didn’t tell her I was dying to kiss her again this morning.
I still can’t believe she thought I was upset and regretted kissing her last night.
That couldn't have been farther from the truth.
Meanwhile, I’ve been stuck in my own head, wondering if I pushed too far. I spent all morning stressing, scared that I’d crossed a line we couldn’t come back from. I thought I’d ruined our friendship, which is the most sacred relationship in the world to me.
Turns out, we’ve been spiraling over the same thing. We both want this, but have been too afraid to take the risk.
I exhale a quiet breath as I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, taking in the way she sits just close enough to graze my shoulder but not overstep. The careful version of Meadow is back tonight, but I’m determined to bring out the wild side I saw in her yesterday.
God, she looks so beautiful right now.
She’s wearing a pair of soft cotton shorts and a loose, cropped t-shirt that’s been teasing me all day. Every time she lifts her arms, the fabric rises just enough for me to catch a glimpse of the sexy, silver ring in her belly button; just enough to drive me fucking crazy.
Her hair is pulled back into a low bun, a few loose strands falling around her face as the glow from the TV washes over her smooth skin—bare and effortlessly gorgeous.
She’s fucking perfect. I could stare at her for hours and never grow tired.
She’s everything I’ve ever wanted.
And it blows my damn mind that she wants me, too. This intelligent, independent, funny, and remarkably stunning woman wantsmeback. I’ll never be able to wrap my head around that.
Right now, Meadow’spretendingto watch the movie. I know she’s not really watching it because the tension has been building between us for hours, pulling tight and stretching thinner by the second.
Without voicing it, she’s fucking begging me to make the next move and stop acting as if we care about this stupid comedy movie—that’s not funny, by the way—and get to the part that we both want.
Touching. Kissing.
Finally hearing the sounds each other makes when we come.
Fuck.
My cock twitches in my sweatpants, excited and turned on by the simple fact that she’s sitting next to me.
Just touch her, Owen.
Pull her against you.
You know she wants this just as badly as you do.
