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“No,” she shakes her head firmly. “I have to be out by the end of the month, and I will be.”
“Ok, if that’s how you want it,” I tell her and try to figure out why I feel unsettled at the thought. Probably because I’ll miss her amazing cooking. Yeah, that’s it.
There's a brief moment of silence and then she turns around and gives me a perfunctory, “Well, that was nice, and thank you again for—”
Her words trail off when I reach out and touch the corner of her lips. There was a crumb there that I meant to brush off. But once my fingers skim the soft lips, I completely forget what the mission was. I forget the point of everything when her eyes darken, her lips opening softly in something close to gasping, but not as vocal. Like the sound got trapped somewhere in her throat.
It makes me forget where we are, what we're doing. Heck, my own name.
Her cheeks redden in a heat that’s currently working up a fire inside me too. I feel the air passing over my skin, her breath on my fingers. Fuck, I want to suck that lip into mine, teasing it, swallowing her gasps in my mouth. I want to taste her, see if she tastes as sweet as she looks.
And I almost do it. In fact, I feel my body move toward her, about to kiss, see her eyes widen and she backs up, her hands flying to the handle of the door.
“Wait…” she says and shuts her eyes swallowing. I have the fleeting thought that she's probably trying to remember why she’s stopping this.
I don’t blame her because I can’t remember either. There seems to be no rational reason right now not to kiss her. There's a hunger gnawing in my gut and nothing else will relieve it but a taste. I don't know if I will be satisfied with just that, though.
But somehow, I pull back. I take her words as a protest and do it, reminding myself that I’ve never forced a woman in my life. Because she’s right. I shouldn’t be getting involved with her in the first place, especially since she’s staying at my place.Don't shit where you eat. I already learned that lesson with Jane and she's only a neighbor.
It’s fun in the beginning but things get very messy really quickly.
I shut my eyes to clear my head, before taking another breath in and out. It doesn’t calm the storm in my body, but it helps me maintain rational enough to say. “Yeah, you should probably –“
“Yeah, I should,” she interrupts and fumbles with the handle of the door. It takes her a few tries to get it open and then she gets out and turns back to look at me. I can see the hunger still there, the unanswered questions in her eyes. And then she turns around and dashes into the house as though something is chasing her.
Desire.
The same thing chasing me.
Damn.
I nearly lost it there, and now I'm hard and horny. But at least I stopped it in time, and somehow I manage to pull out of the house against every instinct screaming in me.
***
“You’re late,” my sister says the minute I enter the restaurant that night and press a kiss against her hair.
“And you’re looking good,” I say to her as I slip into the seat across from her. She raises an eyebrow snorting in disbelief.
“Way to suck up for being almost an hour late.”
“Forty-five minutes,” I say smoothly “And I’m not sucking up. I mean it. You look good.”
Melly reaches up and pats her newly styled bob self-consciously. “Really?”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t tell you that unless I meant it,” I say, which is true but she’d look good to me even if she was wearing a garbage bag.
Melly, who is two years older than me, is currently going through a messy divorce. The bastard has shot at her confidence by cheating on her with his fucking next-door neighbor, like the piss-poor coward he is. Only my sister’s begging and holding me back stopped me from breaking his face.
Ever since then, I noticed she started wearing bigger clothes and stopped wearing makeup. She goes everywhere with pallor on her face and dark haunted eyes. But today she actually put in the effort, donning a pink dress and some mascara.
I want to ask what's going on but I don't want to make her self-conscious about it, so I shut up.
“I got a new haircut,” Melly says.
“I see that. Looks amazing,” I say, and look at the menu. “Did you order?”
“Not yet,” she says. “I’m on this new diet, so I only eat after six.”
