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My eyes narrow infinitesimally. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Her shoulders square in my periphery, but I also note the uptick in her breathing. Confidence and surety light her expression. She does her damnedest to let it show in her body language too. But I see past her mask.
Subtly, I nod. “Yeah. Sure.” I drop my lips to hers for three breaths then pull back. Meet her eyes one last time. Give her one last opportunity to change her mind.
As suspected, she doesn’t. She purses her lips, holds up her key ring and jingles it, and spins to face her car.
The fifteen seconds it takes to walk to my car, the same five words cycle in my head.
I should have walked away.
Obviously, I prefer pain.
Complete. Dumbass.
I park next to Alessandra and stare up at the building through my windshield. Stare at the brick structure I was too lust drunk to pay any attention to last time. Curse under my breath at the fact I’ve sipped coffee and eaten breakfast a floor below the place where we had sex and been none the wiser.
Hell, not only are the walls of her home painted with the memories of our night together, the fire between us lingers in the air of the entire place.
Did I taint her home and business in one fell swoop?
We never said as much, but I assume she wants commitment as much as I do. Which is not at all.
So why bring me here? The first time and now. Why not go to the B&B and leave memories in a place neither of us calls ours? Or find some secluded spot away from the main thoroughfare and hook up in the back of the car?
I exit and lock my car. Amble in her direction with my hands shoved in my pockets. Trek up the stairs and do my damnedest not to gawk at her curves as her hips sway inches from my face. Suck in a deep breath as she unlocks the door, steps inside, and I follow. She flicks a light switch near the door and soft amber light fills the space.
Out of nowhere, answers smack me square in the chest.
We are here so no one sees us together. Not because she is embarrassed to be seen with me but because small towns talk.
If we walked into the bed-and-breakfast together, someone might recognize her. Might watch us as we take the stairs to my room, silently casting their judgment on her. Criticism no one has the right to dole out, but will nonetheless. In a small town, some folks make it their business to share other people’s secrets. All it would take is one misstep or keen observation from a gossiper and Alessandra’s reputation in her hometown would be tainted.
We may never be anything more than acquaintances or bed buddies, but I respect her enough to not drag her through the mud.
“Drink?”
“Please.”
Stashing her keys in her purse, she hangs it on a hook above a mudroom bench, toes off her shoes and tucks them in a cubby beneath, then walks off.
Three breaths pass before I take a step. Before I allow myself to look around and glimpse her personal space. Something I didn’t do on my last visit.
Six months ago, we fumbled through the door with our lips stuck together. My eyes closed and hands roaming her body, she led the way to her room. The next several hours were nothing but lips and tongues and teeth and skin on skin. Not a single light got flipped on and I left before the sun rose.
Nothing about her home is familiar because I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want to get attached. Because attachment inevitably leads to heartache, and I’ve had my share.
I toe off my Converse and place them in a cubby. Follow the path Alessandra took and step into the kitchen. The space is small but bigger than my kitchen in the city and big enough for a single person.
She drains wine from a glass then adds more before placing the bottle in the fridge. Spinning around, a hand flies to her chest.
“You startled me,” she whispers.
Shuffling farther into the room, I pick up what I assume to be my glass. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.” I lift the glass to my lips, sip the burgundy liquid, and watch her over the rim of the glass.
Why is this so damn awkward?
Because the lights are on. Because we are sipping wine and standing casually in her kitchen. And because this moment feels less like a hookup.
Tonight feels like more. Tonight feels dangerous.
