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His eyes don’t move. They hold onto mine, locking them in place. I have no idea what is happening around me. There is nothing but Braxton’s dark eyes.
“Are you going to say something?” I ask.
He doesn’t. I don’t know what I want him to do, but he does nothing. Just stares at me.
“Why?” he asks, finally.
I’m so surprised by the question, I’m not sure what to say. I can’t very well tell him the truth. “I guess it wasn’t working. He’s not a bad guy, and I care about him. But that’s not enough.”
“It’s not enough,” he says. Suddenly he’s next to me, on my side of the booth. I scoot away, but his legs touch mine and his body is so close. He’s so much larger than me. He takes up all the space, sucks away all the air. I can barely breathe.
“I don’t know if I should do this,” he says in a low voice. His face is so close. “But I can’t let this go. Not again.” He looks away. That pain is in his eyes again, the one I saw at my place when I was sick.
He turns back to me, his face hard with resolve. He leans in, moving closer, his eyes on my mouth.
Oh my god, he’s going to kiss me.
I want him to, desperately. But if he kisses me, everything changes. We’ve never kissed. Never fooled around. As many times as we’ve been drunk off our asses together, nothing physical has ever transpired between us, innocent or otherwise. It’s a line we both know cannot be crossed. Like our unspoken pact about talking about our relationships. It’s what makes our friendship work. What makes us last.
His nose brushes mine and I tilt my face, giving him a clear path. He puts a hand on my arm and I tremble at his touch. His hand is hot on my skin. My heart races.
At first his lips barely brush against mine. He’s holding back, and I’m shocked to realize he’s trembling as much as I am. Electricity lights me up, shooting through my lips, straight to my chest. I suck in a little breath.
His lips press harder, and my eyes drift closed. I’m melting, my body turning to water, running down the seat and making a puddle on the floor. His scent floods through me, masculine, warm, familiar.
The kiss grows as we both relax into it. Vaguely, I’m aware we’re in a restaurant and perhaps food has just been set on the table. I don’t care.
He kisses me slowly. It’s not at all how I thought he would kiss. Braxton is brash and aggressive, but this kiss is sweet. Almost reverent. I open my lips and his tongue darts in, just a taste. Every move he makes is careful, tender.
Our lips part, and we hesitate there, breath on each other’s faces. My eyes are closed. I can’t bear to open them. I’m afraid that if I do I’ll wake up and realize this has all been another fever dream.
I’m dazed, but I open my eyes. Braxton is there, his eyes fierce. He leans his face beside mine, his mouth right at my ear, and makes a low noise in his throat. “Oh god, Kylie. I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
I’m utterly frozen. I can’t remember how to speak.
“If you say yes,” he growls in my ear, “we are going to walk out of here right now, go back to my place, and I’m going to fuck you like no one has ever fucked you before, or ever will again.”
My voice is nothing but a whisper. “What?”
“But you have to tell me yes,” he says. “You have to say you want this.”
“Yes.” I’m incapable of any other answer.
He pulls out his wallet and tosses a hundred-dollar bill on the table in the midst of our appetizers. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me out of the booth.
There are eyes on us as we leave, but we’re out the door so quickly they don’t matter. He only lives a few blocks away, so we walk up the street toward his condo. He holds my hand, twining his fingers through mine like we’re a normal couple out for an evening walk.
I’m terrified. What just happened? I was prepared for Braxton to laugh and make jokes, give me a good-natured hug to help me feel better. Maybe offer to get shit-faced with me. I was prepared to hold my feelings in, keep them on lockdown, make sure he couldn’t see what was happening inside me.
Instead, I’m quickly realizing he feels something, too. Something besides a long friendship.
It’s not long before we’re at his door. He takes out his keys and fits one into the lock. I’m bursting with adrenaline, my fight or flight response going crazy.
He pulls me inside, his hand still enveloping mine, and closes the door behind us. He pushes me back against the door, standing over me. He’s a big man, but he’s never made me feel small until this moment—probably because he’s never been this close for so long.
His eyes are all over my face, like he’s trying to memorize me. He holds himself up with one hand, while his other slips around my waist. It fits there perfectly, like he was always meant to hold me.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask.
