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His head tilts. “That so?”
“Yeah. Nora wants to be alone, and we need to get back.”
His gaze drops to my lips when I speak, and heat gushes through me.
This is bad. Really, really bad. If we go down that path again, it’ll get messy. I have proof! The last year of my life is irrefutable evidence that getting involved with Fallon is a Really Bad Idea.
He’s my partner in the competition, nothing more. We kissed once, a year ago. There’s no need for me to be obsessively replaying the memory every chance I get.
At the end of it all, he left. Didn’t even warn me. Didn’t even tell me if he’d be back. I know myself, and I know I’m not strong enough to go through that all over again.
What if he kissed me again…but there wasn’t an ex-girlfriend who showed up to break us up?
Then, if he left, it would simply be because he didn’t want me.
No, Fallon is a distraction, and I can’t afford to go down that path. I need to focus on this competition. On my goals.
His long legs eat up the space between us, eyes burning with something I don’t understand. At the last moment, he turns to his sister. “You don’t want us to stay?”
She lets out a long sigh, sounding exactly like her brother. Then she shakes her head. “I just want to shower and go to bed. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months.”
A muscle feathers in Fallon’s cheek. He cares about his sister—a lot. But he gives Nora a nod, squeezes her shoulder, then we say goodbye.
We don’t say a word in the stairwell as we descend, or when we spill out into the cool evening air. I suck in a breath, my skin overheated for reasons I don’t want to admit.
“I’ll drive,” Fallon says, his low voice rumbling through me, his eyes searching mine before dropping to my mouth, my shoulders. I’m so flushed I know my chest is red, and I wonder if he can tell in the darkening night.
It seems to surprise Fallon when I don’t protest, choosing instead to hand him my keys without a word. In some corner of my mind it surprises me, too, because I’m not the type of woman who likes to give up control. Any type of control. But with Fallon, it feels easy to let him take the lead. I like when he’s in charge.
His fingers brush mine as he grabs the keys, a step bringing us nearly chest-to-chest. “Thank you, Jen,” he rumbles.
“For what?”
He jerks his head to my apartment building. “What do you think?”
Breath stays caught in my lungs as I watch the moonlight play on his skin, his hair. When I meet his gaze, something smolders there. He gulps, watching me, then jerks his head. “Let’s get back.”
I nod, throat suddenly tight.
There’s tension between us. Some sort of energy that’s making my skin feel tight, sensitive. My clothes are rough against my body. When I put my seatbelt on, it presses my bra up against my breasts and I know my nipples are hard.
My body is out of control. Is this perimenopause? Some sort of physiological change in my body making my libido go haywire?
…or is it just the fact that Fallon is the first man I’ve ever met who makes me fantasize about every dirty thing I’ve never had the chance to do?
As we start driving, I let out a sigh. Wondering if Fallon feels the tension between us, I glance over at him and see his jaw clenched, his hands tight on the steering wheel.
“You okay?” I ask.
Fallon flicks his eyes to mine, to my lips, and then back to the road before dipping his chin. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Worried about your sister?”
A pause stretches, then Fallon nods again. “That too.” He clears his throat. “Thank you for offering up your place.”
“It’s fine.” I can’t seem to tear my eyes away from him, from the white of his clenched knuckles as he kneads the steering wheel. His hands are so big and strong—so different from my own. Would they feel good sweeping over my curves?
One of those hands moves to adjust the collar of his tee, then rakes over his scalp before returning to the steering wheel.
