Cali’s place houses every coffee mug in existence. Cali and Gen have their favorites, and it seems Mira has picked out hers as well. Must be a chick thing.
I walk over and move right up behind her, resting my hands on the countertop on either side of her body, until my chest is touching her back.
“Which one?” I say near her ear.
She swallows. “That one.” She points again.
Keeping one hand on the counter, I reach for the “Dear Karma, I Have a List of People You Missed” mug, and hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she says, remaining very still.
It’s not wise, but I’m a guy and she’s beautiful, so I breathe in her scent. It’s vanilla and floral, like last night, along with the intangible something I still gravitate to. The cells of my body are saying, Her, her. Now.
I’m telling them to shut the fuck up.
It’s always been this way with Mira. From the first time we sat near each other during our tutoring sessions, she smelled so good to me. I couldn’t stop myself from breathing her in then. I can’t stop myself now.
But I will keep my hands off her.
It’s sheer cruelty. Thanks to nature, my prehistoric pheromones recognize this girl’s scent and form, out of all the other beautiful women out there, as the most attractive imaginable.
Mira pushes back, her ass against my lower abdomen, a not-so-subtle indicator that she wants me to move. And not at all helping my body’s inconvenient physical response to her.
Her face is close—inches away—close enough that the glisten on her full bottom lip where she wets it with her tongue captures my attention. That, and her smell. Combine it with her slender body pressed to my chest and other areas, and a series of memories fire through my mind…Mira naked with me above her, my lips skimming the inside of her thigh…
Heat spikes down my groin, turning me rock hard, tension rolling off my back.
“Hold up.” I move my hand from the counter to just above her ass, keeping her still while I reach for another cup.
She scans my selection. A mug with the words “Morning Wood” scrawled below an image of a stack of lumber.
Those full lips twist into a smirk. “Classy,” she says, heavy on the sarcasm. My hand and body continue to press into hers, and her breaths turn hitchy. Not so unaffected.
I have no doubt she can feel my want.
She clears her throat. “I’d like to get my tea now.”
I back away, holding my hands out in surrender, the Wood mug in one of them. “Have at it.”
I flip the switch on the coffeemaker I filled the night before, and stealthily make an adjustment to my jeans. How am I going to stay away from her when she smells the way she does? No one should smell that good first thing in the morning. Then she has to look at me all pissy and hot-tempered. Why is that such a turn-on? Was it always? I don’t recall being drawn to bitchy chicks, but Mira’s always had the sauce. At one point, I thought she had a sweet hidden core, but I was wrong. So wrong.
I push off the counter, away from the kitchen, away from her amazing scent.
Space. That’s what I need. Space and distance.
Mira walks out of the kitchen with her cup of tea, and sits on the couch in the living room.
God. She’s a tea drinker on top of it all. Out of every reason we’re not compatible, that one settles it. I can’t live with a tea drinker.
“How long do you think you’ll stay here?” Not subtle, but whatever.
She stops in the act of raising the Karma mug to her wine-tinted lips, and shrugs. “I had planned to only stay the night when I thought I’d be with Cali, but now I’m not sure. It’s not ideal, but…” She takes in my tense features and lets out a huff, daggering me with a glare. “Lewis is right. I can’t go home, Tyler.”
At my blank stare, she sets her tea on the end table. “Jesus,” she says, and stands forcefully. “I don’t like this any more than you do.” She storms out of the living room and into the bedroom.
A moment later, Mira returns with the clothes she wore yesterday in her arms, and slams the bathroom door behind her.
Humph. A little more sensitive than I remember.
