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ELEVEN
Laia
That shift was possibly the longest shift ever known to man. I spent most of it fantasizing about what my life could be like if I were different. Normal. If my life wasn’t messed up beyond all recognition. If I could kiss him all the time.
I’m not normal. My life is messed up. And I’m pretty sure I can’t kiss him all the time. I yawn wide and pull the blinker down to turn into my drive before I notice the pickup. His pickup.
Felix.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. He said he’d be here. He glances up from where he’s leaning on the hood, looking at his cell, his gaze meeting mine through the truck’s windshield as I pull up to the bungalow.
I need to tell him that I’m only interested in being friends. Even if he does look like he just stepped out of an ad for Rough and Rugged Weekly. Even if the way he kisses did act like a temporary off switch for my crazy.
The truck crawls to a stop, backfiring spectacularly before the engine sputters and dies.
I wince. The battery isn’t the only thing I need fixed.
The difference between our two vehicles is laughable. His sleek black Ford Ranger gleams, even in the dim moonlight. My not-quite-new truck looks like a patchwork quilt, each panel more faded and rusted than the next. Not even the moonlight can disguise it.
I should get out. Get this over with. I put my hand on the door handle ready to shove it open but nearly topple out when Felix yanks it open from the other side.
With all the grace of a baby elephant, I practically fall from the truck.
His hands come out to stop me from smashing into him. I dodge them and him with a muttered, hey. I’m not stupid, one look into his face and my already crumbling conviction will disintegrate.
Head down, I fumble with my keys, my skin tingling with the warmth radiating from him and his uniquely-him ocean air and peppermint scent as I turn to lock the truck.
Why does he have to smell so damn good?
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to face him and lean back against the door. “Thanks for bringing the truck back this morning.”
He folds his arms and leans against the pickup across from me, his gaze moving over my face. “You’re welcome.”
I should invite him in. A normal person would invite him in. I don’t think I can. I absentmindedly rub my hands up my arms and look anywhere but into his face. Neither New Laia or Old Laia are ready for that. “You wanted to talk?”
Ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous. It’s not like he’s gonna fly into a rage when I tell him I’m not interested. I shiver despite the balmy night air. I can’t help it. My fears are deep rooted. And they’re back in full force.
His hand lifts to the back of his neck and he looks almost nervous, watching me like that from beneath those thick, black eyelashes. It’s disarming.
It’sdangerous.
“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.” His voice is soft like if he were talking to a scared animal.
That’s probably how I seem to him—skittish, nervous. If only I could control it, or at least hide it better. Be the girl from last night.
I sigh heavily and force myself to look at him. Really look at him. I need this done. “I’ve been thinking about what happened last night.” I twist my fingers in front of me, the low buzz of crickets and the distant crash of waves against the shore still foreign enough to my ears that they never fail to catch my attention even after a couple of weeks here.
He rubs a finger over his lips? as he waits for me to finish, and flashes of how good those lips felt on mine—how amazing they made me feel, don’t make what I’m about to say any easier. All they do is steal the words I’ve been so carefully practicing in my head all day.
“I don’t think—”
“—we’re a good idea,” he finishes for me, watching me carefully.
I lift my chin and attempt to put more confidence into my words than I feel. “I’ve just moved here and it’s … it’s not you—”
“—It’s not me, it’s you.” His laugh is low and rough, his eyes sparkling in the dim light above the garage door.
The sound of it slides over my skin like a sinful breeze. I stare at my tangled fingers so he can’t see the question I’m pretty positive is written all over my face. How can a simple laugh give me goosebumps all over?
“I agree.”
“You do?” I look up. I can’t help it. But the second I do, I wish I hadn’t. His stare has clouded like he can sense the shift in my mood. Like he can see the effect he has on me. And it makes me squirm.
One of his dark brows raises. “I came here to tell you the same thing. I mean, you’re Zi’s friend, and I don’t want this to get weird. I should never have, we should never have—”
“—It’s fine. Not weird. Not at all,” I rush out, my cheeks far too hot to be healthy.
My heart rate speeds when he pushes from his pickup, his hands dropping to his sides. If he can read minds, I’m screwed.
In two strides, he’s standing before me.
I stop breathing.
He stares down, the muscle in his jaw flickering. My flight mode must be seriously out of whack with the rest of me. I’m pretty sure it should be screaming at me to get out of there—to get my ass into the house and away from him. It doesn’t. So, I just stare, hot cheeked and wide-eyed.
“So, we’re good.” His tone is light. Easy.
“We are.” I suck my bottom lip into my mouth to stop my lips from tugging down with unreasonable disappointment.
“Just friends.” His attention flicks down to my mouth.
“Just friends.” I nod. I should be thankful. This was my best-case scenario. “It’s for the best.” My words barely make it past a whisper.
“Definitely.” He holds his hand out, his face void of any trace of humor.
He wants to shake my hand?
I stare dumbly. He seriously wants to shake my hand?
A nervous giggle bubbles in my chest at the absurdity of it all.
Holding my breath, I take his hand awkwardly, but the instant his fingers wrap around mine I flashback to how it felt against my cheek, on my hip, against my lips. My body reacts. Man, does it react. My nipples pebble against the flimsy silk of my white blouse, my skin flushing from the roots of my hair down to the tips of my toes.
I swear his eyes flash and his fingers tighten around mine before he clears his throat and releases my hand.
I snatch it to my chest, blinking my shell-shocked gaze from his face. “I … sorry. I should go. You should—I’m sorry.”
“Hey.” He nudges my chin up with his knuckle like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
I don’t flinch. Not even a little. I just stare up at him.
“Don’t worry about it, Laia. We’re good.”
I nod. Shake my head, unable, no, unwilling, to force my stare from his. “Good.” My scalp prickles with awareness.
“Good.” He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t move to leave. He doesn’t even blink.
I’m kissing him again before my mind has a chance to tell me not to, and I swear it’s even more mind-numbingly intense than the last time.
Felix
That was … I’ve no idea what the fuck that was.
I push my head back into the headrest, dumbstruck, staring at her front door, half convinced I just made the whole crazy encounter up.
She kissed me. Hard. Again. Her body bowing up and in until every curve of her was crushed against me. Soft, pliable, but completely in control. Her tongue. Her lips. That fucking sighing moan. She just kissed the living shit out of me, and I did nothing to stop her. Didn’t even call after her when she left me standing there like a kid with his first boner, mouth open, eyes closed, wondering what the hell just happened.
I blow out a long breath and scrape my fingers through my hair. It doesn’t change anything. I’m not interested. She isn’t interested. I’m good with that. Great with that.
But that kiss? I lean forward, turn the ignition, and shift the pickup into reverse.
I think I might be good with that kiss too.
