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Tired of fighting the pull I feel toward him, I squeeze Rad’s hand, and whisper, “Too far.” I scoot across the vinyl seat and lean my head on his shoulder. “This is better.”
Moving our joined hands to his leg, he taps his lap twice, making me wonder if he’s as nervous as I am. His skin is a bit rough, and his grasp firm. The heat between us is causing a chemical change in my body’s makeup. That’s all I can come up with to explain this deep-seated desire to kiss him.
But I don’t.
I can’t.
Not with Rad, though his words from dinner come back around. “It’s life evolving.”
By how close the two of us have become, we’re evolving with it. Only one question remains. Are we evolving as friends or into something more?
19
Tealey
Rad has a morning routine, and apparently, a low-hanging towel wrapped precariously around his middle while getting coffee is a part of it.
I’m not complaining. But seeing the most eligible bachelor in Manhattan walking around shirtless and fresh from the shower is toying with my emotions . . . and my libido.
What the heck has gotten into me.
Rad . . . well, not into me specifically.
That towel is really the gift that keeps giving, at least Monday through Friday, and the best way to start a day. Me sipping my coffee, sitting on the windowsill. Him with that towel he catches when it begins to slip . . . unfortunately, he’s good with his hands.
Wait, maybe that’s not so unfortunate.
Clearly, I need a day off. Glad my Friday was approved and that Marlow, Jackson, Cammie, and Cade are busy doing their own thing in this SUV. This three-day weekend to the Hamptons couldn’t have come soon enough. His mother and the others will surely help douse the fire burning inside me.
Although it would be easy to blame that charcoal-gray terry cloth that refuses to stay tucked at his hip for confusing the matter, and when I say matter, I mean awakening my sexual desires, it’s not the only culprit.
I flat out blame Rad himself. Despite the pretty women I side-eye when Rad and I are out and about together, I have the privilege of drinking in his full devotion like a deserted woman in need of water. Wait, that’s not right. A woman in the desert in need of a drink? A fish out of water?
Ugh! He muddles my thoughts.
Not to mention how he snuggled me into his side on the way home from dinner that night last week. What was with that? And then in the elevator to his apartment, nothing. What is a girl supposed to think? That it’s just the way Rad shows his friendship?
Maybe, since those are the only times he’s shown that kind of affection toward me. The pressure is mounting, and I haven’t been brave enough to use my vibrator at the apartment in fear that he’ll hear the buzzing again.
I should have taken advantage last night since he left to help his mom get the house ready for guests. Now it’s too late.
Yet because of the damn towels and more than two hours stuck in a car traveling, I’ve spent most of today thinking about how hot he is. This is what he does to me. Mounting pressure . . . Muddled. I can’t even think straight because of those damn towels, the deep V that I saw water droplets trailing down last Tuesday, and a minimum of six abs. There might be more. It would be rude to stare longer than I already had.
So there’s only one thing I can do. I must now dedicate my life to the pursuit of confirming just how many muscles he has on that washboard stomach of his.
Yes, now would be a good time to remember he’s not mine—not to claim, not to flirt with, not to think about beyond our temporary arrangement.
I’ve seen at least fifteen apartments in the past three weeks, and any that Rad saw, he refused to even consider. So temporary is already longer than I expected. He’s been a great sport about me staying and even told me not to rush into a rash decision.
I appreciate how he’s looking out for me. He’s been such a gentleman, and here, I’ve been acting like a dog in heat. Not very nice of me.
Yes, this weekend is needed. Hopefully, it will offer a nice distraction, taking my mind off everything it shouldn’t be on, and I can relax.
As soon as the car pulls onto the driveway, I see Rad walking out of the house to greet us. Dammit. Why does he have to look like he just stepped out of GQ?
Every. Dang. Time.
His mom hurries from the house right behind him, waving from the porch. Amanda Allison is pure joy. When the car comes to a stop, Marlow swings open the passenger’s door and groans, “Why do the Hamptons have to be so far from the city?” She’s already stretching her arms in the air when my back-seat door opens.
