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“I’m sorry.”
I blink in confusion. “For what?”
“For not realizing what I felt sooner.”
Everything inside me stills, and it takes effort to push out the question. “And what is it you feel?”
“That there’s something between us that I’ve never had with any other girl. Anyone period. You mean everything to me.” The energy swirling around us ratchets up to unprecedented levels. It’s both terrifying and exhilarating all at the same time. “What I’m trying to say is that I like you, Sash.”
Sash.
It’s always been his nickname for me. But it’s never meant more than it does in this moment.
Not in a million years did I expect this confession. “You do?”
His thumb strokes leisurely over my lower lip. The delicate motion scatters all of my thoughts, making it impossible to think straight.
My heart thumps a painful staccato against my ribcage. I won’t pretend that I haven’t fantasized about this moment unfolding between us dozens of times. For years, it’s felt like I’ve been standing on the sidelines, quietly watching him. Yearning for something that was never meant to be.
In my dreams, I would leap into his arms and everything would fall neatly into place. What I didn’t imagine was that fear and anxiety would bubble up inside me, dampening any of my joy.
“If I’m being a hundred percent honest, I think these feelings have been simmering beneath the surface for a while. I was too...” His voice trails off before he straightens his shoulders, his expression turning to one of resolve. “I was too chickenshit to acknowledge them.”
His nervousness only heightens my own, making me acknowledge there’s more at stake than I originally realized.
When I remain silent, he whispers, “Tell me you feel the same way.”
That’s exactly what I want to do. But...how can I take a chance and possibly lose our friendship?
Regret swallows me whole as my teeth scrape across my lower lip.
“Sasha?” A desperate edge creeps into his voice.
It takes everything I have inside to shake my head.
Shock floods his features and his eyes widen. “No?”
I glance away, forcing myself to admit the truth. “We’ve always been such great friends. Best friends,” I emphasize, gaze locking on his. “I don’t want to lose that. I don’t want to lose you.”
“But—”
“We’ve known each other forever,” I say, voice rising. “And in all that time, you’ve never gotten serious with anyone. Not even in high school.”
“Maybe that’s true,” he concedes, shoulders collapsing. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to give this a shot.”
It’s almost painful to realize how much I want to believe him. What worries me is that the odds of a relationship working out aren’t in our favor. Would we be able to remain friends afterward? Could life go back to what it’s always been? He means too much to me, and the thought of him not being my best friend, the guy I can share everything with, scares the crap out of me.
“I think it would be for the best if we keep our relationship platonic.” Emotion rushes through me, fighting to break free. It’s all I can do to keep the tears that burn the back of my eyelids at bay.
“I can’t do that,” he growls, dragging my face closer until the warmth of his breath drifts over my parted lips.
“Easton...”
My voice dies a quick death when his mouth crashes onto mine. Every protest clamoring inside me is instantly silenced. When his tongue peeks out to tease the seam of my lips, I keep them pressed together, knowing that if the kiss turns deeper, I’ll be lost. Swept away on a turbulent sea of longing. A rumble of displeasure erupts from him when I continue to resist his advances.
He pulls away just enough to growl, “Open for me.”
And then he’s back again, storming my defenses and demanding entrance. He nips at my lower lip with sharp teeth, and I gasp at the unexpected sizzle of pleasure-infused pain. That second of stunned surprise is all it takes for him to force his way inside until his tongue can tangle with my own.
With his hands cupping the sides of my face, he angles my head in order to gain better access. A whimper escapes from me as he changes the angle and slows things down. Now that the floodgates are open, it’s impossible to hold back or pretend that I don’t want this. That I haven’t wanted it for years. My arms twine around his neck, pulling him closer until my breasts are crushed against the hard lines of his chest.
The way his mouth roves hungrily over mine, sampling it like he’ll never get enough weakens my knees. Any moment, I’m going to melt into a pile of heated wax at his feet. I’ve imagined what it would be like to kiss Easton hundreds of times—maybe more—but all of those daydreams have been reduced to a paper tiger in comparison to the reality.
