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Again.
Even though I had the words and I knew his intentions and I saw it in his expression that he cared about me more than as just his lifelong, childhood friend, I worried that it would get old.
That he’d tire of me.
I mean, fifteen, sixteen years was a long time to know someone.
That was a lot of history.
That was—
“You’re thinking too hard again, Sav.” He reached out and tugged at a loose tendril of hair hanging by my ear. “Go shower. And you don’t reek.”
Before I could stop myself, I blurted, “Come with me.”
For the first time ever, in all the years I knew him, I think I rendered the man speechless. His mouth opened, then closed, only to do the process over again.
Finally, he muttered, “Shit,” before pulling me back into his arms, but this time, we were front to front. I tipped my head up and tried my best at a challenging stare, but it only made him chuckle.
“Savannah Slate, I want nothing more than to accept your offer, but I think that maybe we should wait.” He visibly shuddered. “God, I can’t believe I said that. I want to throw you on that bed and remind you what was so good between us, but I also need to know you’re one-hundred percent on the same page. And I’m afraid you’re not. Just yesterday, you said you wanted to take it slow, so now that’s my intention. To take it slow with you.” He closed his eyes at the last admission, as if he were afraid of my reaction.
Unfortunately, I understood where he was coming from.
Instead, I pushed up on tippy toes and kissed his chin. “I like you a lot, Ryan Madden,” I whisper. Then, before it could go further, I slipped from his arms and retreated to the bathroom.
I refused to let the negative thoughts take over. Instead, every time one started, I forced it down and reminded myself of something positive—Ryan’s kiss, his smile, his hug. His laugh, his nobleness, his declaration of love.
Not wanting to waste much time, I hurried through my shower, scrubbing my scalp because no matter what that man said, I was sure my hair was ripe. Eyeing my razor from my every other day leg grooming habit, I imagined that I had talked Ryan into the shower.
That his hard, naked body would rub against mine in the most delicious of ways.
And then I imagined his mouth dropping kisses along my neck, collarbone...taking the time to nip and suck at my breasts, only to take the kisses farther and farther down...
Yeah.
That was happening.
I turned the water a touch warmer and held the razor under the stream with one hand, while taking my other to lather my bikini line.
However it happened, whoever initiated it...
I was having sex with my best friend tonight.
* * *
Spoiler alert.
Ryan had a much stronger willpower than I gave him credit for.
When I came out from my shower in just a towel, the man cursed—cursed—and apologized for not getting me clothes to wear for the night.
As if that was why I was wearing a towel that barely knotted at my breast.
Because I didn’t have clothes to change in to.
And I could get my hand and mind to agree on the course of action, so rather than drop my towel like the vision in my mind kept repeating, I held on to the towel tighter and smiled, thanking him for the change of clothes, before retreating back into the bathroom.
Then...THEN!...he even brought my dirty clothes into the bathroom after I was changed, to help start washing them in the tub.
