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Peyton stabs the middle of her lasagna with the plastic fork, then sets the plate on the table. Her fingers fidget in her lap. Her eyes downcast, watching the movement.
Why did I do this? Every good person or situation to enter my life… one way or another, I always fuck it up.
The few long-term relationships I had, Rochelle was the only person I envisioned a future with. A life beyond dinners, nights on the town, and sex. I had never fantasized about children or gray hairs. Just years—decades—spent loving each other.
The two women prior to Rochelle… the first wanted more when I wasn’t ready. The second—we just grew apart. Both women were lovely, but never made me weak in the knees.
Early in my relationship with Rochelle, I felt that spark moment. The one where your heart flutters every time you think of the person. When your skin breaks out in a sweat seeing them. When your world wobbles a little because she is near. At the time, I thought fate was telling me she was the one.
Obviously, I was a gullible guy wearing rose-colored glasses.
Rochelle was my first real love. The woman who opened my eyes and heart to things I never knew. She was also my first heartbreak. The pain of her betrayal had nothing to do with the sex. It was more about my naivete and how someone I trusted completely stabbed me in the back.
I never wanted to experience pain like that again. Which led to my nighttime escapades. It was a way to vent my frustrations and fulfill my primal needs. Without getting attached. My philosophy—if I didn’t form attachments, I would never suffer heartbreak again. Great philosophy for my mind. My heart didn’t get the memo.
What I felt for Rochelle—during the best parts of our relationship—is nothing in comparison to what I feel for Peyton.
With Rochelle, my heart did this odd flutter. Nothing more.
With Peyton, my heart charges forward like an Olympian sprinter. Pound, pound, pounding in my chest. A fanatical swirl of energy sparks to life beneath my diaphragm. A passion that feels bigger than either of us. Powerful. Life altering. And more often than not, I forget how to breathe. Forget how to speak or function. My world doesn’t just wobble with Peyton, it flips on its axis.
She may need us to dial it back a notch before jumping in the deep end. If so, I will understand and heed her wishes. I will tone down my feelings. A little. At least the emotions I put on display. The idea terrifies me, but I will do whatever it takes and keep my promises.
“Not that we titled our relationship weeks ago, but let’s just call it friends,” she says, voice shaky. An audible exhale leaves my lips as I sag deeper into the couch. “Until I mentally wrap myself around everything.”
I should be grateful for any form of Peyton in my life. Not pouting like a petulant child. Hopefully, the shadow over my heart isn’t flaunted on my sleeve.
“Long as I have you in some way, I’ll call it a win. Thank you.”
Friendship may not be what I want with Peyton, but time without her is out of the question. So, I take it and plan to do everything within my power to set things right. To show her I am not that guy anymore. That I am someone worth having as more than a friend. Not just a lover, but also a true companion. Someone she can rely and depend on. Someone she deserves and wants in her life.
We finish eating dinner and watch an episode of Supernatural on Netflix. With each passing minute, she inches closer to my side of the couch. Midway through the episode, she curls her legs under her butt and leans into my side. Head on my shoulder and hands clasping my bicep. Her breath warming the cotton of my T-shirt. Legs brushing my thigh.
If this is her definition of friendship, I take it tenfold.
When we evolve beyond friends again—because let’s face facts, we will—I look forward to more cuddle time with Peyton. And what happens beyond first base.
Each time Peyton puts her lips on mine, she kisses me as if it will be the last time. Kisses me as if it’s her dying wish. Full of heat and passion and frenzy. I only imagine what it will be like when I kiss her elsewhere. When I taste the saltiness of her skin and arousal on my tongue. When I watch her come undone with my mouth alone. Or when she learns about my… accessories.
A wicked smile threatens and I bite my cheek. Shift your focus, Reed. Now is not the time to sport a hard-on.
All too soon, the episode ends. If it were up to me, I would let it roll right into the next. Keep Peyton curled up on my left. The last thing I want is for Peyton to leave. But bidding her good night is inevitable. For now.
“I should head home,” she says and lifts her head from my shoulder.
Inch by inch, I trace a hand from her ankle to knee. When I reach the top, she shivers and the energy at my center swirls to life.
“Yeah. Okay.” Although, what I want to say is “no, don’t go.”
Baby steps, again. Baby steps.
She starts picking up the trash from dinner, but I shoo her away. She puts her shoes on and I internally laugh at the pace. Slow. As. Fuck. Seems I am not the only one who doesn’t want her to leave. My heart does a backflip.
Rising from the couch, we amble to the door. Those ten steps go far too quickly. Maybe it is time to rearrange furniture. Make the walk to the door twice as long. Who cares if it messes with the open space and feng shui. If it equals a few more seconds with Peyton, I am more than game.
“Thanks for dinner.” Her violet irises closer to indigo when our gazes lock. She licks her lips and swallows. “Was nice being here again. Spending time together.”
Unable to resist, I lift a hand and reach for the loose strands at her shoulder. She sucks in a breath. Her body freezes on the spot. I stare at the tendrils. How the indoor light accentuates her champagne locks differently than the morning sun. Study the natural wave that stands out enough to be noticeable.
I’d love to see her in a dress. Nothing fancy. Perhaps a sundress. Yellow, like daffodils. Hair down her back with more wave. Her bright smile across the table from me as we enjoy dinner by the water.
“Couldn’t agree more,” I say, voice scratchy.
Without warning, Peyton leans in and presses her lips to mine. The kiss innocent. Nothing more than a peck on the lips. But I don’t dare move. Not to breathe. And certainly not to deepen it.
This kiss may be much tamer than previous ones we shared, but it is the most intimate yet. This kiss speaks volumes. Tells me she forgives me for my past discretions. Says she doesn’t quite know how to do the friendship thing either. At least not with me.
Of all our kisses, this one is my favorite. This one, I will tuck away and keep safe.
Our lips break apart and she takes my hands in hers. “See you tomorrow.” She spins and opens the door.
It takes a beat for me to notice Peyton is out the door and halfway to her car. I jog outside, down the steps, and catch up to her a second later. Her headlights flash before she opens the door and hops in. Once the engine purrs softly, she rolls down the window.
I want to kiss her again, but tell myself to stand down. Until she is ready for more than friendship, Peyton should initiate intimacy going forward. I won’t ruin us. Not again.
“Drive safe.” I tap the roof and reluctantly step back. “Tomorrow.”
After a gentle smile and finger wave, she backs out and drives away. Watching her drive off sucks. But I was lucky to have had her here at all.
I press my fingers to my lips and smile. Until I see her again, the tingle her kiss left behind will remain on my lips.
