“Cheers,” we say again.
“So, do you sit in here when you work?” I point toward her open laptop on the kitchen table.
“No!” Smacking the laptop closed, she shoves it onto the counter. “I try not to work when I’m with friends.” She gives me a half smile.
“Good plan. Is that what I am? A friend?”
“I think. I don’t have many.”
“How about more than a friend?” I move closer to her standing by the counter, all the easiness of the evening long gone.
“This is uncharted territory for me,” she admits as I move within reach but don’t crowd her in. “I haven’t been on a date in a while, and even when I do date, it’s more of a scratch to an itch. God, that doesn’t sound good. It’s that, I keep Gabby out of it.”
“Nice,” I say, waggling my eyebrows, desperately trying to cover up my brewing jealousy.
“I thought we were being honest. After all, you know what onions do to me.”
Like that, she lets me off the hook. Relieved, I move in, setting my beer down and leaning over to kiss her.
Her ass is against the counter, my front hitting the perfect spot against hers, and I give a tiny bit of my weight, creating some friction. She moans, and I swallow it whole. I want more, but this is new for me. Single mom, etc.
“This okay?” I ask like a naive virgin.
“Yeah,” she breathes out on a whisper. “Gabby’s gone.”
Touching my forehead to hers, I mumble, “Good.”
We stay like that for a beat or three, and then our mouths meet. Boom, crash, gnash, we are insatiable. My tongue dives inside her mouth and her hand travels up my back, down again, and under my shirt.
We’re getting into a groove—kiss, tongue, hand and nails up and down my spine, bump and grind, repeat. Then Andi says, “Stop.”
I do. Immediately. Taking a step back, I run my hand down my face. “I didn’t mean to go so fast.”
“No, that’s not it. Let’s go to my room. It’s just ... never mind. It’s weird.”
“Come on.” I take her hand in mine, threading our fingers. “It can’t be that weird. We were having fun, right?”
Her eyes stare up at me, dark brown meeting my own green, and I watch in amazement as she blinks. Something is wrong with me—I’m engrossed with her blinking.
“It’s just that this is a common room. Gabby and I find ourselves in here a lot, and I don’t know ... this feels too personal for here.”
“Got ya.” I squeeze her fingers. She’s not saying stop for good ...winner, winner, chicken dinner.
“Come on.” She tugs on my hand. “A girl can’t wait all day.” She leads the way to her room, and when we get to the threshold, she says, “This is me.”
I notice she’s taken the smaller of the two bedrooms in the house, and my heart flip-flops for whatever reason. I’m turning soft.
I don’t have time to dwell on it because Andi is in front of me and briskly opening the buttons on my shirt, her fingers grazing my chest. I take her mouth in mine and move her toward the edge of the bed while our tongues dance. Like I said, a little soft lately.
But not in that department. I’m hard as rock down there, and ready to go.
The back of Andi’s knees hit the edge of the bed, and I gently lay her down. “You have way too many clothes on,” I tell her.
“What are you going to do about it?” she teases, smirking at me from her lilac comforter.
Without hesitation, I drop down next to her and run my hand up the length of her jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, and shimmying them off. She kicks off her boots, and I’m back on the floor, finishing the task.
Set before me is stunning Andi in her shirt and a lacy black thong. My hand shakes with my want, and I grant it permission to run the length of her thigh, slipping under her shirt and to her breast. My thumb caresses her nipple over her bra, and she jolts.
