Just slightly. Just enough that I can feel his breath on my mouth, can see the way his pupils dilate, can feel his hands tightening on my hips.
He doesn't close the distance.
He just stays there, waiting.
Letting me choose.
And I almost do.
I'm right there—a breath away, my eyes already closing—when something cold and sharp cuts through the warmth.
This is how it starts. This is how you lose yourself.
I step back, immediately putting distance between us that feels like miles even though it's only inches.
“I can't,” I whisper.
He just nods and lets his hands fall from my waist, runs one through his hair, and takes his own step back.
He doesn't chase me. Doesn't push.
“You know where I am, Honeycomb.” He gestures at his door. That’s when I hear the disappointment thick in his voice. “You're more than welcome to join me if you change your mind.”
“Good night, Zach,” I croak out, flustered at his honesty.
“Night, Honeycomb.”
I swipe my card and slip inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click. Then I lean against it, pressing my back to the wood, and stare at the ceiling.
My lips are tingling. My whole body is tingling. I can still feel the phantom weight of his arms around me. I can still smell his cologne on my skin, still feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth in that fraction of a second before I pulled away.
I almost kissed him.
What the fuck am I doing?
Her door shuts, but I don’t move.
All I do is stare at the grain, trying to hold myself together.
Honey. Honey. Honey.
I lean forward and press my forehead to the door, feeling the cold wood against my skin. I can hear her moving around on the other side, and I have to stop myself from knocking the door down and convincing her to be with me.
I close my eyes and blow out my breath.
“So close. Sofuckingclose.”
Every single time we get close, something makes her stop. I don’t even care that she ran away when things started to get alittle real. I’m used to that. It was how close she was to giving in. I could feel it, just like the day she came to my house to tell me she was leaving St. Michael’s. The only reason she didn’t stay with me then was because Tiff walked in on us.
“I’m sorry, Honey,” I whisper to the door.
It’s so fucking hard to show restraint when it comes to her.
Figuratively and literally.
I’mso fucking hard when I’m around her, it’s starting to get awkward.
She wants this as much as I do. I know it. Ifeelit, but she’s just too afraid to show it, which means I’m left standing in a hallway with my forehead against her door and an erection that is embarrassingly loyal to Honey.
