“Yes.” I pull my bottom lip into my mouth. “It was the same for me. Friend, principal—” I shift uncomfortably. “The box got too full for me too.” My face is hot.
“God,” he laughs, and I can’t quite make out why. He shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face, and I think he says something that sounds likeidiot, but that doesn’t make sense.
I sip the cold white wine in front of me. It’s crisp and light and does nothing to cool the heat in my stomach.
“So what did you think?” he asks. “Too weird for you? Any regrets?” His voice is oddly husky.
I should. I should regret hooking up with him, but every time I look at him, I feel like my chest is expanding. “I should, right?”
“I don’t,” he says carefully. “And I think you shouldn’t regret it either. If that’s what you want.”
My heart seems to swell.Of course he’d laugh while hooking up and of course he’d be open and honest and caring afterward.Whoever ends up with him won’t deserve him. I’m certain of it.
I take a long inhale. Admitting this feels momentous. “I don’t want to regret it.”
His mouth curls up. “So don’t.”
I roll my eyes at his confidence before I ball up a napkin and throw it at his head. “Easy for you to say.”
His eyes are alight as he snatches the napkin before it can hit him. “You have very bad aim with napkins. I hopeyour aim is better with bullets. And no.” He swallows. “It’s not easy for me to say.”
My pulse stutters. “Fine. Then I want more.” I tip up my chin, daring him to say no.
His gaze sharpens. “More of what we did earlier?”
My body feels like it does after a long sparring session—on edge and thrumming. “What about you? Is that what you want?”
“Katie.” His words release on a huff of a breath. There’s a rueful smile on his mouth, half of a joke I’m not privy to. “It will always be about you.”
“Then yes, I want more. For however long we can do this. Until you get married.”
He tips his head, his gaze strangely searching. “Then I’m all yours. For however long you want.”
Despite his words,he doesn’t try anything as we watch a documentary on the couch. He just lounges back, one arm behind his head, spread gloriously on my couch like he’s nearly naked here all the time.
I catch him darting glances at me occasionally, particularly at the scenes where they’re interviewing the athletes, but he doesn’t say anything.
And when it’s over, he grabs his pants out of the dryer and wanders to the door, rubbing at his chest. “Long day tomorrow,” he says with a yawn.
“Long day,” I agree, thinking of the date he’s supposed to go on. I feel vaguely ill at the thought.
“See you in the morning for a run?”
“Day nine hundred and forty-seven of you trying to beat me,” I tease.
His lips tilt and he stalks closer, backing me up until my shoulder blades meet the wall of the kitchen. “I have beaten you at least three times,” he says hotly. My stomach flutters from his nearness. His soft mouth is so close. I want to feel it on mine again, but I’m worried if I kiss him now, I’ll never want to stop.
I press my hands to the wall so I don’t grab him and beg him to stay. His mouth hovers over mine.
“Tell me you want me again.”
I can’t breathe.
My heart is pumping in my chest.
He brushes his lips over mine before he tugs at the bottom one with his teeth. “Katie, baby. Tell me you liked it. Tell me you need me inside you.”
I can’t. I can’t admit to the conflagration inside me. This deal, this piece of time we get, is notthat.It’s not permanent.
