I decide to just chalk it up to both of us not really knowing what we want but are nervous about what the other wants, and decide to approach with a slight quip.
"Getting attached to a stranger already?" I ask him teasingly, nudging him in the arm with my shoulder but he doesn't budge.
"It's hard not to get attached to a stranger when that stranger isyou." The elevator stops and so does my heart.
I look up at him to see the way he's looking down at me, neither of us breaking the stare as the doors slide open slowly. His words thread into my heart and I feel so much more than surface level emotion coursing through me.
But then he reaches a hand down to caress the small of back as he gently urges me to exit the elevator cab after he whispers against my cheek, "And you're not a stranger, Weslyn."
I'm stunned as he leads me into the hallway and down to his door on the left. His way with words ignites me, sending a rush of heat all over my body. Or maybe it's the way his hand touches me at my back, a sense of security accompanying his touch. But it's the fleeting moment of sin that flits between us, knowing that I can feel that way my body reacts to him and I'm not sure he even realizeshe's doing this to me. But I can't deny it and I think it's something I've always felt. It's just different now that we are this close in person.
He opens the door to his condo and steps aside for me to walk through. "Welcome to my home," he says as we both step inside.
He comes up from behind me and sets my bag down on the ground. Suddenly, the space now seems a bit too warm and intimate as I hear the click of the door closing behind us, even though it’s all bright light and open concept.
I don't let that thought sink in, the one where I realize that we're now alone. Instead, I busy myself by looking around a bit more. I don't know what I expected when I thought of his home or where he lived. You think of someone who is nearly rich enough to be a billionaire and immediately imagine gigantic houses in the mountains. Granted, I knew he didn't have one of those. But the realization of just how different our lives are is something that bounces in my brain a few times and it's hard to not feel somewhat out of place.
I turn to him with a shy smile only to see that his eyes are glued on me. My cheeks burn. I love when his eyes are on me. It's one thing when we look at each other through the screen of our phones, but in person with him just a few feet away, it makes me feel dizzy with anticipation and utterly consumed with wondering what he thinks or feels when he looks at me.
But I have to shake off this feeling, because it's starting to feel like too much too fast, and the last thing I want to do is overthink the intentions of his eye contact. Instead, I walk right up to him, reaching for the front pocket of his jeans where I can see the outline of his phone. I pull it out andhand it to him. He pinches his brows inward as he takes it with confusion in his expression and I simply giggle before I say, "Take a picture. It will last longer."
22
Kyran
Fuck, this can't be good.
I wasn't sure that I'd allow myself the luxury of being so obvious, because honestly, it's hard not to be when the person who's been on the other side of the phone that I'd spent hours with is now standing right in front of me. I really didn't want to seem too forward too fast, but she caught me red-handed. I was staring. At her body, her ass, the way she lit up when she walked into my apartment.
But I was also listening. I could hear the way her little nervous breaths escaped her lips and it made me anxious. Maybe for her approval or her rejection? I don't know. But I didn't expect her to turn around and catch me eying her down before stomping over and pulling my phone from my pocket.
God, having herthatclose makes my heart race.Can a man's heart race?Because mine does. Every single fucking time I look at her, it races.
"What are you waiting for?" she asks as she puts her hands on her hips and smiles that beautiful smile of hers. Her pink lips pout just enough to catch the air in my lungs from exhaling a full breath and her eyeslook wildly entertained as she waits for me to take an actual picture of her.
"You're serious?" I ask, and she nods without hesitation.
I feel like I should say something.Sorry for ogling you, but fuck, you're pretty.Anything. But nothing comes as I open the camera app to my phone and position the screen over her.
She poses, pressing her palm over her lips and closes her eyes as she blows a kiss to the camera. I snap the picture. Then she moves to a new position, holding up a peace sign by her face while sticking her tongue out, eyes still closed. I snap again.
For the next pose, she opens her eyes, places her hands behind her back and smiles that pretty fucking smile she has. It's pure and genuine. And it knocks the air out of my lungs. I snap the photo and then put my phone down.
"There," she says as she wanders over to the barstool at kitchen island. "Now you have something to remember me by." She pulls herself up on the seat and spins around to face me.
I don't know how to react or what to say. What she just did renders me speechless, shocked, and quite frankly . . . obsessed. I've known Weslyn to have this spunky side to her, maybe a little spontaneity even. But what I just witnessed was more than that. It was playful and sarcastic and confident beyond belief. Maybe she's always carried those traits and it's hard to decipher via text messages and even the multiple FaceTime dates we've had.
I love seeing her be herself and break out of that shell she's been fond to crawl into. And if there's one thing I now know that I expect out of her being here, it's that I want more of that.
Still, even though she didn't show any offense to the fact that I was eying her down—unbeknownst to her, inappropriately—I take the time to apologize.
"I didn't mean to invade your space like that. But I'll admit, it's very hard to keep my eyes off you, Weslyn," I admit as I head for the fridge to grab a beer.
"I know. I'll confess, I've caught myself staring at you too. It doesn't seem real," her tone is soft as she speaks, a step down from the vibrant display she put on for me moments ago but not any less confident in her words.
I let a silent response fill the space between us as she watches me. I turn to ask her if she wants something to drink, not really sure what the plans are for the night ahead, but she stops me by jumping off the stool and holding her hand out.
"Wait," she presses her palm to the beer in my hand and I have to avoid the wild look I want to give her. "You think maybe you can save this for later?" I don't move as I let her grab the bottle out of my hand and she reaches behind me to put it back where I got it from.
