I settle onto his lap.
The first touch of his lips is tentative, like he’s savoring a long-awaited moment. It ignites something reckless in me. I kiss him back with all the urgency I’ve been holding in, tasting whiskey on his tongue. He tangles his fingers in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp into his mouth, and he swallows the sound greedily, deepening the kiss.
It’s everything I’ve imagined and nothing I’ve prepared for. A low sound escapes him, and I feel it reverberate through my entire body.
He pulls away, eyes searching mine, and I’m afraid he’s going to stop.
“Avery,” he says, his voice rough.
“Don’t,” I breathe, pressing closer, and he doesn’t need more convincing.
He kisses me again, harder this time, like he’s staking a claim. His mouth is hot, insistent, and I lose myself in the sensation of it. His hold on me is possessive, and I’m painfully aware of the heat building between us, and I can’t get close enough.
I don’t care where we are, don’t care about anything except the feel of his body against mine. I grind against him, and he groans, the sound low and primal.
I arch my back as he grips my hips, shifting me against his hardness in a way that makes me gasp. The windows start to fog, and I know we should stop, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to think, don’t want to do anything except give in to the way he makes me feel.
“Avery,” he says again, and this time the way he says my name makes me sit up straight.
He pulls back, breath ragged, and I can see the conflict warring in his eyes.
“We shouldn’t.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” I say, climbing off of him.
I reach for the handle but stop before opening the door. Turning back to him, I say, “Actually, I do know what I was thinking. And you were thinking the same thing.”
I see a flash of something dark and desirous in his eyes, and I almost stay to hear if he has a response, but I don’t. I open the door and get out of his truck.
Walking through the lot, I find my car and sink into the driver’s seat to call an Uber, all the while trying to convince myself that I’m not a complete idiot for thinking that could’ve ended any way other than how it did tonight.
Chapter 9
Iwake up, and the memory of last night floods back with an intensity that startles me. I try to hold on to the weightless feeling of laughter and freedom, but it slips away, replaced by the images I fought to ignore.
James.
The way he kissed me, the heat of his hands, the reckless abandon I didn’t think he was capable of. I close my eyes and see him again and feel the embarrassment from last night creep over me, pooling in the pit of my stomach.
How the hell am I going to face him on Monday? Even worse, how am I going to face Nash after this?
The sun creeps through my blinds, flooding the room with morning light, but even its warmth isn’t enough to stop the chill of my self-consciousness from settling in. My brain cycles through all the reasons I shouldn’t feel bad.
My cheeks burn as I recall the look on his face when I got out of the truck.
It’s fine, I tell myself. It’s nothing.
If I keep repeating it, maybe I’ll believe it. Maybe the embarrassment will go away, or at least the part of it that keeps me thinking of James.
What was I thinking?
The idea of bailing on Nash crosses my mind.
I let it linger there, let it swirl around with all the other doubts I’m collecting.
I stare up at the ceiling, not even sure what to call the way I’m feeling right now. Restless. Uneasy. Still thinking about James’s touch.
Salem nuzzles against my shoulder, forcing me back into the present. I sit up, stroking his fur, willing my thoughts to stop racing.
