Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "

Автор книги: Lisa DeJong

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

“My turn.” His eyes brighten, and he licks his lower lip. It’s hard to keep my eyes up, away from his perfect mouth.

“I’m waiting,” I say, feeling breathless.

The corner of his mouth quirks. “How old were you when you lost your virginity?”

Very few people know the answer to that; sex isn’t something I talk about with just anyone. “That’s a lame question, don’t you think?” I ask, curling my legs up under my body.

He shrugs. “You either need to answer or drink.”

It’s none of his business whatsoever, but my head is already starting to swim from the alcohol . . . this isn’t a big deal. “Eighteen,” I mutter, focusing my attention on the wood grain of the coffee table. Talking about it makes me think of Derek. He was the first and only person who has ever been inside of me like that. Sometimes, I wish I could go back and undo it all. I could have saved myself so much heartache.

Needing to forget, I fill my shot glass again and pour it down my throat, skipping the lime all together.

“Bad experience?” Blake asks.

“Just makes me think of someone I’d rather not think about.”

Blake’s gaze falls to the floor, his thumb brushing over his lower lip. He either wants to say something or avoid the subject. I can’t always tell with him.

I clear my throat, wrapping my arms around my folded knees. “Since I already know you have a sex life, let’s talk about love. Have you ever been in love?”

He inhales a deep breath, looking up to the ceiling. I recognize the emotional pain—deep-seeded, damaging pain. Without saying a word, he pours himself another shot and brings the glass to his lips, tipping it back until it’s empty. He barely looks at me.

“Have you ever been in love?” he asks, probably wanting to catch me the way he’d been caught.

I nod, feeling the effect of the alcohol in my blood. If I stood right now, I wouldn’t get far without someone holding me up. “My turn,” I say. “Before I started working at Charlie’s, did you hang out there?”

He laughs. “Not near as much as I have been lately.” He stops, giving me a second to roll my eyes. “Did you move here to try to put together a broken heart?”

He’s not going to let this go, and I’m not going to talk. I fill my glass yet again and down the liquid. My head spins to the point where it’s hard to even form questions.

Nothing comes besides the one thing I’ve wondered since I met him a few days ago. “How can you and Mallory be so different?”

“I’m male. She’s female.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

He shrugs. “We grew up in the same house with the same rules, but once we turned eighteen, our lives took different paths.”

“Can you be a little more specific?” I ask. My eyes feel heavy, the mix of wine, pizza and tequila weighing me down.

“I answered your question,” he says tiredly, laying his head back against the sofa.

The room is quiet again as I wait for him to ask me another question. It doesn’t come. At least I don’t remember it.

MY HEAD THROBS.

My stomach turns.

I’m not in my bed. There’s no pillow for my head, no soft mattress under my body. I rub the sleep from my eyes, focusing my attention on the light coming from the window—the living room window. The sun isn’t shining, which is a good thing because it would do nothing for my pounding head.

Warm skin brushes against my stomach, a muscular arm wraps itself around my waist. Turning my head, I see Blake sleeping behind me—our bodies perfectly aligned on the couch.

I don’t remember how we got this way, but if the ache in my head is any indication, there’s a good reason for that. I haven’t been like this with anyone in a long time. Even when I was with Derek.

I shift, trying to get out from under his hold before he wakes up. I slowly work myself free, and just when I think I am, his arm tightens around me, tucking me back against his warm body. There’s no way to tell if he’s actually awake without looking.

I’m not going to look.

In many ways, I’m starting to feel like Blake and I are similar. Not so much in personality, but how deep we bury ourselves in our secrets.

And the feeling of being wrapped up in him is different than I ever could have imagined. It’s something I want, but I don’t. Having someone hold me again fills a hole I didn’t even realize I had. I understand the idea of a rebound guy, and I’m not going to let myself go there, but this is just as good.

“Aly,” he mumbles behind me, ripping me from my thoughts.

“Who?” I ask, louder than I intended.

“What the fuck,” I hear him mutter, his mouth against my hair. He stirs, and his whole body tenses right before he lets go of me. He’s coming to his own realization, but it seems like he’s not going to take it as well as I did.

I sit up, the throbbing in my head unbearable.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice angry and confused.

“Trying to wake up.” Scanning my body for the first time, I’m relieved that I’m in the same clothes as last night.

“No, I mean, what the fuck are you doing here . . . with me?” Out of the corner of my eye, I see him come up beside me. He rubs his own temples but keeps his eyes off me.

I think about standing and simply walking away, but I can’t. “I think we passed out. Don’t you remember how many shots we had last night?”

“We didn’t.” He signals between us with question in his eyes.

“We still have our clothes on. Asshole,” I groan, rubbing my temples.

“I don’t want you to think this meant something, because it was nothing.”

“I didn’t want it to be anything,” I whisper. Or maybe I do, and I won’t admit it.

A giant ball of tangled emotion forms in my throat, and I do my best to swallow it down. I didn’t expect anything from him, but hearing him voice it without invitation is a cruel rejection. Even if I admit that I want him, he wouldn’t want me.

“At least we’re on the same page,” he mumbles, standing and hurrying off to his room. His door slams, causing me to startle.

He was cold.

Then he was warm.

And now, he’s back to cold again. It’s probably better if I don’t let him in . . . to avoid the chill that’s sure to follow. Wanting to be hidden away should he decide to come out of his room, I stumble to my own. I should jump in the shower to wake myself up, but I fall into my bed instead. The headache, the rejection . . . I just want to fall back asleep.

Pounding music—the kind with enough bass to shake the floor beneath you—wakes me. He’s back to his old self, and I want to kill him. And more importantly, I hope he didn’t bring someone else back here just to prove to me that I’m nothing. I heard it loud and clear.

I hear his bedroom door fly open, but only one set of feet sound on the hardwoods. A weird wave of relief sweeps through me. Curling myself into a ball, I try to drift back to sleep, the covers pulled up high against my neck.

All is right in the world again until I hear pans clanking in the kitchen. Two rules. He’s broken two rules already. If I walked out of this room, he’d probably be standing in his boxers. That would make three.

Pam sprays. Eggs crack. The smell of breakfast fills our small apartment. The TV clicks on and SportsCenter drowns out the music that still plays. If I wasn’t pissed before, I’m pissed now. I march out of my room, hitting the power button on the TV before stomping off to Blake’s bedroom to turn down the music.

I’m almost back to my room when a hand wraps around my elbow, pulling me back. “If something’s not yours, don’t touch it.”

I crank my head, looking down at his fingers wrapped around my arm. “Then get your hands off me.”

His eyes sparkle. “You’re right,” he says, letting go of me. “And, if I’m following that rule, you can too.”

Turning around, I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m starting to think you can’t follow rules.”

He comes closer, but I stand my ground. I’ve spent months convincing myself that I’m not weak. I’m not going to let someone like him bring my weakness back to the surface.

“I do what I want,” he spits, “So stop trying to change me.”

“Don’t worry, Blake. I’m well aware that I can’t wash the jerk off you,” I say, spinning on my heel.

One point for Lila.

When I finally get out of bed, everything is quiet. I stretch my arms up, noticing a new voicemail lighting up my phone. It’s probably Mom or Mallory, I think to myself as I roll over to retrieve it.

I press play, putting it against my ear. “Hey, Lila, it’s Pierce Stanley, we sat together on the plane to Chicago.” He laughs lightly before continuing, “I wanted to see how things were going in the Windy City and if you had any luck on the job front. My company just had a design apprenticeship open up that you might be interested in. Anyway, give me a call if you’re interested. I’d really like to tell you more about it.”

It’s not that I have short-term memory problems, but I’d almost forgotten about Pierce Stanley until just now.

The thought of getting a real job—one I might actually like—makes me want to call him back right away, but I can’t.

I want it so badly, my dream job, but I’m scared of failure. Not because I don’t have the education or the eye for it, but because I’ve failed before. I’m not going back down that road again.

FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE I moved to Chicago, true loneliness consumes me. It’s been almost two days since I last saw Blake. Two days since I’ve talked to anyone outside of this apartment besides the nice guy who delivered my Chinese food last night.

The snow trapped me inside.

Then it was my own anti-social mood that kept me in. This isn’t who I am, or who I promised myself I’d be after Derek wrecked me. I’m stronger than this, or I should be.

Last night, I started to wonder if Blake was right, if moving to Chicago was a stupid idea. I’m wasting the opportunity, doing the same thing I would if I were still at home.

Picking up my phone, I dial one of the only sane people I’ve met since moving here.

“Hey,” Dana answers.

“Hey, what are you up to?” I ask, nibbling on my lower lip.

“Actually,” she groans, “I was just getting ready for a date, and I feel like I have nothing to wear. What are you up to?”

My smile falters just a little. It looks like I’ll be spending another night home alone. “Who’s the guy?”

“Just a guy.”

“Someone from Charlie’s?” I ask. Chances are I don’t know him, but it doesn’t lessen my curiosity.

“No, you’ve never met this one. He’s not really the type who frequents Charlie’s.”

“That’s probably a good thing.” It’s true. There’s not a single guy at Charlie’s who I would agree to see outside of work. I’d probably end up murdered in a ditch. And without a stable roommate to report me missing, it would go unnoticed for days.

“So what’s up?” she asks, changing the subject.

“I was calling to see if you wanted to do something tonight, but we can make plans for another time.”

“That sucks,” she says, and then backtracks. “I mean . . . it doesn’t suck that you called but just that I have other plans. How about next week on one of our nights off?”

We work the next three nights, but at least that means I won’t be stuck in this apartment. Alone.

“If you can squeeze me in,” I tease, feeling a little unsure.

“It’s a date. Tuesday . . . put me on your calendar for eight o’clock. I know this cute little bar that has cheap tacos and margaritas.” A girl after my heart . . . if I can bring myself to drink tequila again.

The door clicks open, and I look up to see Blake coming in. “It’s a date. By the way, have fun tonight.”

“You too. I hope you find something to do.”

I hear Blake’s heavy boots on the floor but force myself to keep my eyes off him. “It’s about to get interesting.”

I throw my phone down on the couch and pick up my Kindle, trying to get lost in my book again. It’s usually the best sort of distraction, but I smell his soap and hear him moving around me.

My eyes scan a whole page, but I can’t repeat a single word I read. My heart races and all that flows through my mind is what he’ll say, or if he’ll even say anything at all.

“When is your date?” he finally asks, standing at the end of the couch. I try not to look, but I can’t help it. He looks good in fitted black jeans and a muscle-hugging gray henley; my eyes linger a little longer than they should.

“Next week.” I force my eyes back to my book.

“Did you meet him at work?” He places emphasis on the last word. I’d never date anyone I met at Charlie’s, but he doesn’t know that.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone is a little too curious—jealous even. “Hmm, kind of. Except he is a she, and it’s the type of date where there’s zero chance we’ll end up in bed together at the end of the night.”

“Sucks to be you.” His voice is lighter, teasing. Silence follows, but I know he’s still there. No footsteps. No doors opening or shutting. He’s appraising me . . . I feel it. He doesn’t have to report his findings because I guarantee the value isn’t all that high right now.

“Is this what you do every night?” he finally asks.

“Nothing better to do.” All I’ve done is read on my days off. It’s too cold to go out and explore more of the city, and my one attempt to get out of here and be social was a bust.

“I’m going with a couple guys to watch a band downtown. I think you should come.”

I shake my head without looking up. “No thanks.”

He yanks the quilt off my bare legs. My tiny cotton shorts seemed like a good idea until just a few seconds ago. “Maybe it’s not optional.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, Blake.” I try to pull the blanket from him, but he steps back until it’s out of my reach.

“If all you want to do is read, go ahead, but you’re bored. I can tell.”

I purse my lips, not at all sensitive to the fact that I have no make-up on. “How’s that?” I ask.

“For one thing,” he says, coming up next to me, “your reading machine is upside down. Kind of hard to read that way, don’t you think, Lemon Drop?”

Asshole. I flip my Kindle around. “I was just finishing a phone call. And why the hell do you keep calling me Lemon Drop?”

His thumb brushes against the corner of his mouth. “They remind me of you.”

“That’s one of the most asinine things I’ve ever heard.”

“Have you even left the apartment since Monday?”

I shake my head, trying to focus on my book. Maybe he’ll get the point and walk his sexy ass out of here. Not likely, but I can hope.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving in thirty minutes.”

Lifting my eyes back to his, I say, “I never agreed to go with you.”

He starts walking away. “And I never asked. Thirty minutes, Lila. Go!”

Blake yells at least six times to let me know the cab is waiting downstairs. I’ve been ready for a few minutes, but I want to keep him waiting, to either piss him off or make him leave without me. Maybe both.

I open the door to the outside, pulling my black coat tighter around my waist. I never asked what type of band we were going to see, or where they were playing. There’s a chance I’m overdressed or underdressed, but either way, I know I look good. A form fitting heather dress hits at my knees, black knee-high boots taking care of the rest of my exposed skin. The high neckline and long-sleeves may not be most people’s idea of sexy, but this dress hugs . . . everywhere.

I’m going to prove a point tonight. I’m not his toy to play around with; I never will be. It doesn’t mean I can’t dangle myself in front of him. Tonight is going to be about fun and games, and this time, I’m the master of ceremonies.

Irritation pours off him as I climb in the back seat. It’s enough to make my lips quirk with happiness.

“Next time, I’m going to lie about the time,” he remarks. I feel him staring at me, but I don’t meet it.

“Who said anything about a next time?”

He laughs. “You may not realize it now, but there will be. Getting people to do what I want is one of the many magical powers I possess.”

Rolling my eyes, I ask, “Are you saying you’re a wizard?”

“No, I’m saying I’m a clever person who’s unraveled the complex workings of the female mind. Believe me when I say it’s not that fucking easy.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Not crazy enough to keep you away from me.” Jerk.

The rest of the ride is quiet. It’s dark outside, but the lights of downtown illuminate the cab. Blake has been tense since our exchange, but I ignore him for the scenery. This is the first time I’ve been down here this time of day, but I can already tell I’m going to love it. There are so many people. So much radiant life and energy. With the Christmas lights decorating trees and buildings, I could easily get lost here.

The cab pulls down a side street, coming to a stop along the curb. “We’re here,” Blake announces, bumping his shoulder against mine.

Without much hesitation, I slide out, stepping onto the busy sidewalk while he pays. The air is cold, and when I inhale, a mixture of food tickles my senses. It reminds me that I forgot to eat dinner, which means any alcohol I drink will go straight to my head. Great.

“Ready?” Blake asks, bumping my shoulder again.

“Yep,” I reply, letting his touch guide me.

We end up in front of a blues club that advertises barbeque on the canopy; my stomach growls just thinking about it. “They serve food here?” I ask, sounding more desperate than I intended.

His mouth comes inches from my ear, his breath tickling my skin in his attempt to speak over the crowd. “Great food.”

I shiver. I don’t know if it’s him. Or the thought of smoked brisket. Or maybe the cold air.

He opens the door, his eyes scanning the packed room. I’d almost forgotten that we were coming here to meet some friends of his. Maybe I should have spent my time in the cab praying that they’re nothing like him.

The longhaired guy he was with at Charlie’s a few nights ago and another waves us over to a table in the corner. I’m pretty sure they’re smiling at us. I grimace, not liking the feeling of an us.

“Dude!” the guy I hadn’t met until now exclaims, “What the fuck took you so long?”

“Guys, this is Lila. Lila, this is Ronny,” he says, pointing to the guy with the loud mouth. “And this is Mark.” He points to the other guy, the one who was with him the other night. “Lila’s my new roommate, and she takes a long fucking time to get ready before going out.”

I slide my jacket off my shoulders, feeling three pairs of eyes staring at me. Blake’s fall to my chest before slowly coming back up. His mouth gapes open . . . exactly the reaction I was going for when I chose this dress.

“Sorry,” I say confidently. “I wasn’t planning on going out tonight so I had to throw myself together.”

“Doll face, you look anything but thrown together. Why don’t you slide in next to me,” Ronny remarks. By the way he looks at me, I can tell he’s a pig—the kind that works really hard to pick up a girl in a bar only to have her sneak out a side door to avoid him.

Because this is all harmless fun, I sit next to him in the booth. Blake slips in across from me. Our eyes connect. He sneers. I smile.

“So what band is playing?” I ask, tapping my fingers against the tabletop.

“The same one that plays every night,” Mark replies, breaking his silence.

“Oh.” Before I can ask anything else, a blonde waitress appears next to our table in a short black miniskirt and white top, buttoned down just enough to show the edge of her red lace bra.

“Can I get y’all something to drink?”

“Rum and Coke,” Mark says.

Ronny moves a little closer to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. “I’ll take a Sam Adams and whatever Doll Face here wants.”

I shrug, hoping to shake him off, but I fail miserably. “I’ll take a shot of whiskey.”

“Make that two.” I catch Blake’s eyes across the table. He swallows hard then breaks contact.

Not to my surprise, Ronny does most of the talking while we wait for the waitress to return. I guess he used to work with Blake, but now he paints houses. Honestly, the more I listen to him talk, the more I think there’s something to taking in too many fumes. He’s kind of funny, but that’s where it ends.

The waitress reappears with our drinks. “Do y’all want to pay for these or start a tab?”

“I’ll pick up the first round,” Blake says, sliding a plastic card across the table. She quickly walks away with it.

“I wanted to buy the lady a drink,” Ronny rebuts. His fingers slip down my arm, tracing circles around my elbow.

Blake leans halfway across the table. “Give up, asshole. She’s not going home with you.” He’s talking to Ronny but looking at me. I don’t understand him.

“Is he like this at home?” Ronny whispers, his breath hitting the side of my neck.

I keep my attention on Blake. His jaw is locked so tight; it’s got to hurt. “Pretty much,” I whisper back. “I’d say he needs to get laid, but I know that’s not the case.”

Mark whistles low, bumping Blake with his elbow. “Did you hear that? I think someone may have finally met his match.”

I lean in toward Ronny’s ear, resting my hand on his shoulder. This is pissing Blake off, and I kind of like it. For his part, Ronny squeezes my thigh.

“Fuck this,” Blake mutters, leaving the three of us alone as he stalks off toward the bar.

Victory. Immediately, I slide away from Ronny, smiling apologetically. Maybe he thought he was getting somewhere, but this is nothing but a game. Men play them all the time, so why can’t I?

I figured Blake would come back after a few minutes, but he doesn’t. I finish my whiskey and instantly regret it. With an empty stomach, I’m feeling the drunken tingle after just one drink. Mark and Ronny talk, but I don’t listen. My head spins as if it’s stuck in the eye of a hurricane.

The place is packed, but I feel like the only person in here. I scan the bar again, anxious to find Blake and get the hell out of here. Maybe pick up a pizza along the way. I’m lost in my own world when cold lips press against my neck. I jerk my head in response, hitting Ronny in the face.

He cups his nose, wincing. I quickly move away. “I’ll be back.” I pick up my coat from the back of the booth and pull it over my shoulders.

“Hey, I just wanted to have some fun!” Ronny yells after me.

A path clears for me as I make my way toward the bar, ignoring him. Another drink—or five—might be all I need to fix this messed up night. I hate when my plans don’t work out the way I want. What was I hoping to achieve tonight? Did I expect Blake to fall to my feet and beg for something I don’t even want? Or maybe I do want it, and that’s what bothers me so much.

The bartender appears in front of me as soon as I slide up against the bar. He smirks, his eyes exploring my body before coming back up to mine. He reminds me of Blake—full of himself. There’s probably a girl waiting outside the door to go home with him and his dimples after every shift. Another fucking wizard.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

“Whiskey, tall.”

That only widens his smile. He splays his hands on the bar top, allowing him to lean forward even more. “Straight?”

I toss my hair behind my shoulder and rest my elbows against the old wooden bar. Tonight was supposed to be about fun, and life is what you make it. “Twisted whiskey isn’t really my thing.”

“Mine either,” he says, darting his tongue out over his lower lip. He moves in to say something else, but I step back. Too much, Lila. Too much.

“I could really use that drink.”

He nods, turning to pull a glass from the back shelf. Music starts, and I spin around to get a glimpse of the band—three guys about my dad’s age. The singer’s voice is a soulful cry to the slow, beautiful melody. I rest my elbows on the bar, letting the music sway my hips like the wind does the leaves on the trees.

My eyes close. I want to forget where I am and just pretend for a second that I’m on a private beach with soft sand under my feet. The song changes, and when I open my eyes to find my drink, Ronny is standing in front of me. He’s watching me with thick perversion.

Before I can say anything, his hands encase my waist, pulling me against his body. “Dance with me.” I hate the smell of beer on his breath.

“No.” I shake my head and push down on his arms. His hands clench into fists, but he doesn’t step back. This whole fucking night has been ridiculous. I unclasp my clutch and throw money on the bar to pay for the whiskey I didn’t get to drink. I could use a whole damn bottle right now. “Tell Blake I said bye.”

I expect him to follow me, to yell like he did before, but he doesn’t. Without looking back, I head out the door, letting the city air wash over me. Coming here with Blake wasn’t a good idea. I should have known the second he asked me.

Blake and I aren’t meant to mix. We’re a mistake—an experiment that results in toxic fumes.

Before heading back to the apartment, I stop at a small pizzeria and buy a slice of hot cheese pizza. My hollow stomach can’t wait the few minutes it will take to get home so I devour it as I walk down the city streets. It’s pitch dark, and I don’t know a soul out here, but it doesn’t matter to me. If the world wants to swallow what’s left of me, let it. Maybe that’s where life’s path is leading me . . . down a dark, narrow hole.

As much as I hate them, I hail a cab and crawl into the backseat. The driver and I exchange nothing but my address as the downtown streets turn into residential ones. When he pulls in front of my house, he asks for fifteen and I hand him a twenty.

Once I’m safely tucked in my apartment, I change into my sweats and curl up on the couch with my e-reader. This is what I should have done in the first place. Besides the pizza, the entire night was a waste.

I disappear into the land of alpha males and the weak heroines who love them. It’s the kind of book I love to hate. I tell myself I’ll never be one of those girls, but since Derek, I’ve felt like maybe I was one with him at times.

It’s a struggle—constant and fierce—but in the end, I know I’ll be okay. What doesn’t kill us is supposed to make us stronger, right?

I hear the door unlock, and quickly beeline for my bedroom. I didn’t expect Blake to come home tonight, and I’m not in the mood for a meet and greet with his nightly pick-up.

“Lila!” I hear him yell as soon as my door shuts. “Damnit, Lila, come out here now.”

My hand stays on the doorknob. I’m scared that if I move, he’ll hear my bare feet against the old hardwood floors. He’ll know I’m still awake.

“Lila. Come. Out. Here. Now!” Blake wears a permanent asshole patch on his shirt, and I’m tired of it.

When I still ignore him, his fist hits hard against my door. “I know you’re awake.”

I know without a doubt if I don’t open the door, he’s going to keep yelling and eventually he’ll wake up all the neighbors. Hesitantly, I turn the knob and get an eyeful of his pissed off expression. Every muscle in his body goes rigid.

“What?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.

He takes a step toward me, his chest brushing against mine. “What the hell were you thinking leaving without telling me? I spent a whole fucking hour searching the club for you, thinking some asshole had gotten a hold of you!”

“I told the guys.”

“Well, you didn’t tell me!”

I swallow hard, taking the smallest of steps backward, hoping he won’t notice. “Honestly, I didn’t think you cared. I agreed to go with you, but I never said I’d leave with you.”

His eyes burn into mine as he makes up the space I’d gained. “When you come with me, you stay with me, and if you think you need to leave, we’ll fucking leave, but you should not be walking around this city by yourself at night. Especially wearing that piece of fabric you call a dress.”

“You know, Blake, I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself,” I say, poking my finger into his chest. “Besides, you’re the one who left me alone at the bar so I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Do you want to know how much I fucking care, Lila?” he asks.

My eyes widen, and my heart races as he steps closer, pushing my hand right back into me. He’s not just being an asshole . . . he’s genuinely, seriously pissed.

His arm wraps around my lower back. I push against his chest, but his grip on me is too tight. “There’s not a whole lot in this world I care about, but every time I look in those green eyes of yours, I don’t have any control.” His lips are mere inches from mine. His hand practically burns into my cotton-covered skin. “I hate not having control.”

Confusion is all I feel as I stare at his dark shadow with no idea of what to say. He tore in like the first wave of a windstorm sweeping away all my thoughts.

“Say something.” His voice is lower but not without edge.

“I made it home safely, didn’t I?” Daring in my current predicament if I do say so myself.

“This time.”

“And the hundreds of other times I’ve walked home at night.”

His grip on me tightens. “Why are you so stubborn?”

I shrug. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

Without warning, his lips crash into mine. At first I fight it, pushing hard against his chest, but he tastes like whiskey. Woodsy and smoky like a campfire, matching the intensity of his kiss. He melts away my anger with his mouth, leaving days’ worth of unrealized sexual tension in its wake.

He tastes.

I lean into him.

He sucks.

My knees go weak.

He isn’t something I wanted. Not three weeks ago. Not even three minutes ago. But as his hands slide up my back, coming up to circle my neck, I’m drowning in want. He tilts my head back to allow himself better access. My tongue tangles with his. Never in a million years did I envision this . . . how much pleasure I would feel from a simple touch. I guess sometimes we have to have our desires at our fingertips to realize their true depth.

When his lips leave mine, his hands stay. We went from one extreme to another so quickly . . . I’m not sure what will happen when he pushes the brakes. His face is close, like he wants to kiss me again, but his hands fall away from me instead.

“Don’t—”

One step back.

“Ever—”

Another step.

“Let me—”

Another step. His back hits my bedroom wall.

“Do that again.”

As he exits the room, I’m left wondering what the heck just happened. That kiss took all the cells in my brain and tangled them. I never imagined this, and I hate to admit it but I liked it.

But the way he left me leaves a nagging burn deep in my chest.

It’s just another reason I need to find my own place. Getting any deeper into this with Blake is going to get messy . . . that’s a guarantee.