She laughs softly, then goes quiet. I let the silence stretch between us for a beat. The movements in the house soften the hard edges of whatever the fuck this is between us. I’m ready to cut this shit open with a knife, spill all its guts out.
“You didn’t sleep much last night, did you?” she asks, still not looking at me.
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“Me neither.”
She finally glances up at me, and that’s when it shifts—everything. It’s like the floor beneath my feet gets removed from under me, and I swear I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.
Her voice is softer now. “I kept thinking you were going to pull away.”
“I didn’t want to.”
Another pause.
Neither of us moves, but the energy is unmistakable now. If someone were to walk into this room right this minute, they would definitely see it. It’s a golden current, a hum under my skin that has my fingers twitching by my thighs.
“I’ve been thinking about it all day,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
“What?”
“That bed. Beds.” She laughs lightly and shakes her head. “The way you…” She exhales, eyes closing briefly. “You know what, never mind.”
I cross the room and stand in front of her, close enough to see the flush blooming across her cheeks. I reach for her hand.
“Tell me,” I say.
She looks up, and for a moment, I think she’s going to deflect again. But she doesn’t. “I didn’t want to stop touching you.”
My breath catches.
And then I bend down and kiss her.
It’s not rushed or desperate. It’s a steady pull—like gravity, like something we’ve been avoiding for days, since two nights ago on the couch when we were both slightly buzzed and relaxed after a nice dinner.
Manuela’s hands slide up my chest, around my neck. She leans in, deepens it, and the way she moves against me makes my thoughts scatter everywhere.
I pull her up gently from the bed, and I stumble backward with her in my arms until I feel the mattress at my knees.
She laughs into my mouth, breathless. “God, this is so?—”
“Terrible idea,” I mutter, kissing down her jaw. “Absolutely awful.”
Manuela sneaks her hands under my shirt, her warm fingers touching the skin of my back. The movement makes my shirt lift. “Then stop me.”
I don’t.
Her sweatshirt goes next, soft fabric pulled over her head and tossed somewhere near the nightstand. I press her back against the bed and follow her down. We kiss like we’re starved, hands everywhere, mouths open, breathing fast.
I tug my shirt over my head, breathless, just as there’s a knock at the door.
We both freeze, but Manuela is stifling a giggle and hides her face against my neck.
Then Elle’s voice, sing-song and completely unbothered. “Connor, darling, dinner’s ready. If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, we’re starting without you.”
Silence.
Then Manuela groans and drops her head against my chest, but there’s a smile on her face. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
