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I could say I didn’t know what I was thinking, but I wasn’t thinking at all. Some kind of animal instinct thing took over, a primal urge that liked the way he swung his proverbial caveman club at Jesse on my behalf. Almost like he really cares about me. Almost like Ibelongto him. We were building a really nice friendship, something that could’ve been different for me, and I had to go and ruin it with such a silly impulse. It wasn’t even a good kiss. I can’t even fall back on that. It was awkward and weird and rushed, and I think I missed his mouth by a solid half-inch.
As I struggle to forget everything that happened earlier, the car hums beneath us as we speed down the highway, silence enveloping the small space. It’s charged, palpable. I steal a glance at Weston, the hard line of his jaw, the concentration in his eyes as they stay fixed on the road. My heart flutters, and an unfamiliar heat pooling in my stomach.
I shift in my seat, and our hands brush over the gear shift, a simple mistake, an innocent touch, but the shock of it sends sparks up my arm.
“Sorry,” I whisper, my cheeks flushing But he doesn’t move his hand. Instead, his fingers graze against mine, warm and firm.
He shoots me a quick sideways glance, his mouth tilting into a small smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “My fault,” he murmurs, the low timbre of his voice sending shivers down my spine. His fingers linger, ever so slightly, brushing against mine with an intimacy that I feel deep in my core.
The air between us shifts and thickens, filled with a pulsing energy that has my heart racing and my breath hitching. This isn’t really anything new, at least not for me, this intense draw toward him. But it’s almost as if our kiss, awkward as it was, unlocked something within us both. Something we hadn’t known was there. Something wild and untamed, waiting to be explored.
When we park at the apartment an apology bubbles up, but the words get all tangled up in my head. I don’t want him to think that I regret kissing him because it’shim—that’s not it at all. If I had to kiss anybody, it would be Weston. But that makes it sound like an obligation, and it wasn’t, not at all. I wanted to kiss him; I just didn’t want towantto kiss him. None of this is the right thing to say, and as I’m mulling it over, I realize that I’m already halfway across the entranceway and opening the door to the stairwell. I turn my head and Weston is two steps behind me like usual. I thought we’d just go our separate ways.
Then it hits me—there are no separate ways to go. We’re going to the same place, more or less. God, I’ve ruined everything. And now I can’t tell if he’s walking with me because he wants to or because he simply needs to go this way to get home. I’m starting to panic, I think. That has to be it. My mouth feels weird and I’m not breathing right as I go up the stairs, which is making me lightheaded and winded.
I know that he’s behind me, watching me go inside, and I get so fidgety about it that I worry I’m going to break my key again. I can’t imagine the property manager would pay for a locksmith twice. When the door swings open, I take an extra second to put my keys in my purse, and he stops me.
“Elowyn,” he says quietly, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Come again?” I pause, not yet turning around. I didn’t expect an apology, because I’m the one who’s sorry, and I’m caught in the emotional whiplash, my feelings still somewhere back in the passenger seat of his car.
I hear him shift his weight. “I said I’m sorry.”
“No. Not that. You have nothing to be sorry about.” I shake my head, turning to face him. The way that he leans against the wall, like he’s trying to disappear right through it, turns my world inside out. My heart… squeezes. It somersaults. It splits wide open. “It’s… it’s… my name. You never call me by my name.”
Three syllables I’ve never heard come out of his mouth until this moment. It’s been “neighbor” the short time we’ve known each other almost like he doesn’t want to admit I’m an entire person. Just a tertiary accessory to the building, who happens to walk and talk and keep him company. Like a Roomba but with ambient conversation, lips with poor aim, unhealthy food choices, and an iced coffee habit.
He looks at me with a tilt of his head.
“El-o-wyn?” he repeats slowly, over-enunciating each sound with a painstaking attention to detail. The way his full lips caress the word sends me to an emotional place I’ve never been before. Those sinful lips curve into a smile. “There. Happy?”
I nod, biting my lip.
“I just…” He rubs a hand at his jaw, figuring out what it is he wants to say. A feeling
I know very well today. “I shouldn’t have pulled away when… you know. You surprised me. And I didn’t know what to do, or how to be. I’m not good with… I don’t have much experience with…”
He’s floundering, a kid who just jumped into the deep end, face first, without his water wings. I need to throw him a lifeline so I can fix this before my face goes up in flames since I’m already mortified over this whole situation.
I step forward, taking his hand in mine and rubbing his palm with my thumb. “I don’t suppose you might want to stop talking and kiss me now, Weston? I mean… that is… if you think you shouldn’t have pulled away?”
He considers my offer for a moment before another slow smile spreads across his face. It’s the most genuine one I’ve seen from him, and I almost melt before he leans down and his lips meet mine. It’s better this time, sweeter. He’s far gentler than anyone who’s ever kissed me, as if he’s asking permission every second, terrified I’m going to stop and end it right there. One taste of this man, and I’m gone. The sound of our breathing seamlessly blends, highlighting the way his heartbeat matches my own. The soft percussion of his fingers drums against my cheek. A door slams in the distance. Weston’s breathing is even and deep. His lips are hot, brushing mine like a burning coal. God, I never want it to end. This. The way I feel so safe when I’m with him.
When he breaks away, he rests his forehead against mine.
“Do you want to come in?” I whisper.
His entire body stiffens at the request, and I immediately fear that I’ve still managed to read everything wrong.
“No. And it’s not that I don’t want to.” He makes that huffing sound that passes for his laugh, a few sharp exhales through his nostrils. “Believe me, I want to. I just don’t want to fuck this up. If… if we’re gonna do this, like try to bemore, I want to go slow. I’m not who you think I am. I want to make sure you can back out if you want to.”
He says it like he means it. That he’s fucked things up before. Is that so bad? Who hasn’t tripped up once or twice? I know I have.
It’s just like my sister said. Baby steps. One goal at a time.
I run my palm along his sinewy forearm. “Slow is good. As long as we move, you know? Like you calling me by my name from now on.”
Weston nods, stepping back for a moment to get some air. “I feel you. Why don’t we move this someplace else? We can go up the street somewhere and get some breakfast if you want. You seem like a French toast kind of girl.”
