“I didn’t hate you. We’ve had this conversation. I love my job and can’t let anything jeopardize that, so I put up this wall. Anything to distance myself. I could tell you were going to give me a run for my money and test my self control. And maybe even my patience.” I let my eyes drift back to him. “Most definitely my patience.”
He laughs at that before leaning close to the point that I can make out the swirls of navy mixing with the lighter shade of blue in his irises. I could get lost in those eyes. Drown, even. “And yet, I still crashed through those walls,” he whispers.
“That you did,” I say, voice equally soft. I run my tongue along my bottom lip, and his gaze instantly drops to my mouth. I don’t move. Completely freeze up.
Is he about to kiss me?He can’t kiss me. But I kind of want him to kiss me. Want to know what he tastes like. Why do I want him to kiss me? I shouldn’t want him to kiss me.
My eyes drop to his mouth and back up to find him watching me intently.
He leans forward the slightest bit.
I hold my breath in anticipation.
His breath ghosts over my lips.
It’s the wake-up call I need, because I snap out of whatever lustful trance I fell into.
I pull back abruptly and shake my head.
“Um, we should probably get going,” I say, my voice rough.
He blinks several times, clearing the desire from his eyes before he finally speaks. “Yeah, we should probably pack up.”
The rest of the evening, we go through the motions. We pack up the picnic, head back to the locker room, gather up our things, and head out to his car.
The drive home is spent in silence, but not the usual comfortable kind, and I feel like shit because this is my fault. I think I led him on. I’ve caused this tension between us. Things were going so well up until that near kiss. We were having fun.
When he pulls up to the curb outside my building instead of parking in the visitor lot, I can’t take it anymore.
“Walk me up?” I ask quietly, casting a quick glance in his direction but avoiding direct eye contact. I’m sure he can hear the hesitation in my voice.
I stare down at my hands in my lap, but his gaze burns into the side of my face. He’s silent for several moments before he turns his attention back to the road and pulls around the corner into the lot.
He throws the car into park before turning to me.
“Isa, I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” I ask, confused. “I’msorry. I feel like I made things uncomfortable.”
“No, I’m sorry. I was lost in the moment and got carried away and nearly kissed you. I almost ruined everything between us. I meant it when I said I was happy to only be friends with you if that’s what you want. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I wasn’t uncomfortable. I just… I feel like this whole date thing confused the both of us.”
“Yeah, probably,” he says, sounding a bit sad. “Well, I should probably get you upstairs before you turn into a pumpkin,” he says with a chuckle but it’s lacking some humor.
We both climb out of the car and ride the elevator up to my apartment together. When we find ourselves in front of my door, I turn and lean back against it to face him.
“Thanks for tonight, Ryan. I had a great time. Probably the best date I’ve ever been on,” I say with a smile.
He practically beams at the compliment, some of that joy returning to his features. “That’s some seriously high praisefrom you.” He leans in, causing my breath to hitch at his nearness. I’m afraid he’s going to try to kiss me again, until he tilts his head to the side enough to plant a soft peck on my cheek.
It’s a friendly gesture, but it causes a burning heat to radiate out from the place his lips met my skin.
He pulls away and offers me a soft smile. “I had a great time too. Have a goodnight, Isabella.” He starts to back away toward the elevators. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I start to say, my mind still trying to reboot itself after the cheek kiss. If I’m completely useless after a simple kiss on my cheek, what the hell am I going to be like when we actually kiss? No, not when. If.Ifwe actually kiss. Pretty sure I’d be deceased. Eventually his words process. “Wait, actually no you won’t.”
He pauses his retreat. “I won’t see you tomorrow? But there’s a game.”
