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Frankly, I’m not even sure if I want this to be a dream or reality.
I exhale another trembling breath. What the hell did I do?
So much for keeping my distance.
***
In the morning, I feel like I’m just going through the motions as I get ready to head back home. Sleep hadn’t come to me the whole night, and if it had, it was restless and filled with dreams of Reed. When I was awake, all I did was replay the kiss a thousand times over. I think I screamed into my pillow a few times, too.
He’d come to my room and kissed me, and then I had told him to leave without even being able to make eye contact with the man. If my mind wasn’t preoccupied with thoughts of Reed Maxwell before, it sure as hell has multiplied tenfold after that earth- shattering kiss. How could I have let it go so far?
Kissing him had only been a fantasy, nothing but a dream, because making it a reality would be an invitation for a whole lot of complications that I’m not ready to deal with. I had tried to be as steadfast as I possibly could be in my path of not giving into my desire and want for Reed. And I thought I was doing a decent job. But, geesh—he strolls into my room, gets all hot-headed, and wants to start a pissing contest because he thinks I’m on adatewhen I’m really with my cousin?
And then I think of how he kissed me because he was jealous, and it makes my stomach tumble and my heart threatens to burst out of my chest and every inch of my skin feels like it’s onfire. The kiss clearly was driven by emotion—heated, desperate, passionate emotion—and I don’t know how to wrap my head around that. Was it a heat of the moment thing? Did he regret it, after I kicked him out?
Illogically, despite my sleepless night and all of the reasons why Ishould, Idon’tregret that kiss. How can I, when it was so goddamn good and delicious?
I jam my finger into the button for the elevator a little too hard, my grip on the handle of my carry-on suitcase tight as it whitens my knuckles. I can’t seem to reconcile with the combination of emotions that run through me. There are certainly way too many feelings to keep track of, and all of them are at war with one another. Disbelief, desire, disappointment, worry, and even more desire dizzy me as the elevator doors slide open.
Only to reveal Reed standing inside.
Oh sweet Jesus, you have got to be kidding me.
I’m frozen where I stand, staring right at him, the only person in the elevator. He’s got a backpack hanging off one shoulder and his hand gripping a duffel bag, dressed in jeans, a dark blue shirt, and a Rebels cap on his head with dark curls peeking out from underneath. My pulse quickens in his presence as dark brown eyes pin me where I’m standing, and I have to force myself to move to step into the elevator. Even if two voices in my head fight; one telling me how bad of an idea it is to get into an enclosed space with Reed, while another one sings about how much of a good idea it is.
My movements are stiff as I step into the elevator and turn to face the closing doors, my carry-on next to me and being the only thing standing between Reed and me. When the doors close, the tension thickens in the small space, the air electric as neither of us looks toward the other, but our presence alone is powerful enough. Every cell in my body buzzes with the need to be close to Reed; to feel his hands on my skin, his lips on mine, to be wrapped up in his warmth the way I was, for a few moments, less than eight hours ago.
My gaze is trained on our blurred reflections on the steel of the elevator doors as we slowly descend from the eighteenth floor. Every second that passes in silence feels like a chord tightening until it snaps, and we make it to the fifteenth floor in complete quiet until Reed breaks it.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says gruffly, his voice otherwise absent of any emotion. His words are stoic and stiff, and they wrap around my heart like a vice as his voice rumbles through the small space. “It shouldn’t have happened.”
The vice squeezes painfully and I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to let any emotion show. So, hedidregret kissing me. The confirmation of it makes my stomach roil, my grip on my suitcase tightening as I lift my chin but say nothing. Even though the stubborn part of me wants to tell him it was no big deal when it feels like anything but. He kissed me in a way I have never been kissed before, and now he’s taking it back. It’s what I wanted him to do, partly, and yet it still stings.
Reed isn’t done yet, though. “If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.” His apology has the air locking in my throat, and I resist the urge to squeeze my eyes shut. Saying the kiss was a mistake is one thing, but apologizing for it feels. . . defeating. “I wouldn’t–” He stops for a moment, and from the corner of my eye I can see the angry muscle in his jaw working, tension lining the fine-muscled lines of his body. Reed doesn’t look at me as he continues, “I wouldn’t blame you if you decided to file a complaint.”
My body goes rigid with disbelieving shock, my blood running cold as my lips part. There’s a ringing noise in my head that has nothing to do with the mechanical buzz of the elevator. While I understand why Reed said what he did, from a professional, famous athlete’s point of view, the insult that comes with his words stings me more harshly than I could anticipate it.
He believes I would report him for something we both clearly, at our cores, wanted? That me kicking him out meant I would file a sexual harassment complaint?
God.I understand why he would be cautious in that sense, but that doesn’t mean his belief or understanding of it didn’t hurt.
The elevator keeps descending and I don’t turn to meet Reed’s gaze as I calmly ask, “Is that what you think of me?” That I would be petty enough to turn the situation into something it wasn’t?
Something like a scoff sounds from Reed. “You don’t let me close enough to really know you,” he responds tightly.
My jaw tightens, his words striking a nerve I didn’t know existed. “Really?” I say, keeping my voice as calm as I can manage. “I wasn’t aware you were trying to get to know me. I assumed all you wanted was a quick screw.”
The words taste bitter and poisonous, even if a part of me believes them. When was the last time Reed had been in a relationship? From our first interaction, how am I meant to believe he wants something like that from me? How am I supposed to believe he wants something more than a casual, one time hookup? The temperature in the elevator drops to the negatives following my words. We talk without looking at one another, the iciness in both of our voices, in our veins, keeping us from making eye contact. It’s a stark contrast to the heat radiating off of Reed’s body.
“Is that what you think of me?” he asks roughly, throwing my own words back at me.
I carefully swallow the lump that had formed low in my throat. “I don’t know you well enough to know what you want from me.” And because my answer sounded like I was agreeing with his statement of me not allowing him close enough to know me, I add, “And it’d be better if things stayed that way. Strictly professional.”
Reed doesn’t hesitate to reply, “There was nothing professional about the way you kissed me last night, Willow.”
The way my name rolls off his tongue. . . wow, I have to physically suppress the shiver that threatens to run through me. Flashes of last night flicker through my mind; the scrape of his stubble against my smooth skin, his tongue expertly tangling with my own, his lips pressing against mine. I swear, I feel all of those sensations even now, my lips tingling with electricity, and I have to force those images out of my head to keep it on straight.
“It won’t happen again,” I say tersely, unable to stop the small frown from furrowing on my eyebrows as I say those words. The idea of not kissing Reed again, as reasonable as it is, also feelswrong.
