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Screw my brain.
“Yes. Absolutely yes. We should take our shirts off. I am definitely a fan of where this is going.” I pull his face toward me, and as his tongue brushes mine, it’s so, so good. Almost as if that very brief pause had me forgetting how well Dax kisses. How perfectly we fit together. And how all signs point to the idea that we’re about to shed our clothing and—holy shit, I’m about to have sex with my best friend.
Dax breaks our kiss and pulls away.
“Why are you stopping?” I ask him. “This is the part where we take our clothes off. It’s literally the best part.”
But Dax shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Like they have minds of their own, and he’s trying to contain them.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this. I can’t believe I’m even thinking this, but what if we hit pause on this—just for tonight?” He scrubs his hand down his face. The lines of his forehead suggest that what he’s saying and what he’s thinking may not be one and the same.
“We should both go to bed,” he continues. “Separately. And then tomorrow, I will call you, and we will make a date to see each other. Hopefully, do all of this again and maybe other things that I can’t really think too much about right now while I’m trying to convince myself that going home tonight is the best plan.”
“Why?” I nearly scream in sexual frustration.
“Because I like you, Gemma. And I think that a lot of things happened tonight, and I want to be sure this is what you want.”
“This is what I want.” Okay, now I am yelling at him.
“Fuck.” He draws the word out. “I want it too. But please. Agree with me here before I change my mind. Tomorrow. Wecan go on a date. I will take you somewhere nice. If you still want to, we can—”
“Oh, I will want to.”
Dax squeezes his eyes shut, looking pained. “I am going to regret this the moment I walk out of here. I know it, but I’m going to go.”
He runs the tips of his fingers down my arms until they reach my hands, which he holds, pulling me to him. He leans in and places the sweetest, softest, feathery-light kiss on my lips, and it drives me wild because I know it’s the last one I’m going to get tonight.
“You good with this plan?” he asks as he pulls away.
“No, but you’re probably right. I hate being responsible.”
He laughs and pulls me into a hug, which turns into a long hug that I end up breaking because if Dax sticks around here any longer, there’s a strong chance I may start begging for sex. Instead, I walk him to the door. He takes the steps two at a time and pauses at the top to wave.
“Goodnight, Dax McGuire,” I call to him.
“Goodnight, Gemma McGuire,” he calls back.
“Slip of the tongue?”
He shrugs and smiles. “Something like that.”
—
Saturday morning findsme on Kiersten’s doorstep at 7:36 with two oat lattes, a dozen Nana’s doughnuts, and a heavy heart.
After Dax left, I got into bed and started thinking. Which led to analyzing. Which led to making new plans and questioning all of my life decisions.
“Oh god. What happened?” Kierst is a bit of a mess. There’s a mysterious green stain on the shoulder of her white sweater, and her hair is half falling out of her bun and I suspect it’s notintentional. She hoists Lucy onto her hip as Riley ducks under her arm and heads for the minivan in the driveway.
“Nothing happened,” I lie.
Kiersten doesn’t say anything but raises a single eyebrow as she pulls her front door closed behind her and hands me the car seat with Jan.
I help her load the kids into their various seating contraptions, then seat myself in the passenger side.
We drop baby Jan at Kiersten’s mother-in-law’s and Lucy at her swimming lesson and are on our way to drop off her oldest, Riley, at a friend’s house when I grow impatient and crack.
“Would it be so terrible if I didn’t go home?”
