Paisley grins wryly. “Just change their names and locations and it’s all yours, Wordsmith.”
I finished my dinner while Paisley was speaking, so I push the empty bowl away from me and say, “The story you wrote in college didn’t go exactly that way. You changed some details.”
I don’t like bringing up The Unfortunate Thing in mine and Paisley’s past, but we can’t ignore it either. It’s there. It’s a part of us, of how we came to be the way we are with each other.
“I didn’t want to use the real details. I wanted to give it different circumstances. At the time, I thought it would help me process everything that happened. It was all still fresh. By the time I got to college, my parents divorce had only been final a few months. But writing that story did not help me like I thought it would.”
“Especially not when somebody came along and ripped it apart.” What an asshole I was.
Clearing our empty bowls, I take them to the sink and wash them while Paisley tidies up the kitchen. I’m not necessarily surprised to find myself liking her in this space typically only occupied by me, but I am surprised to find just how much I like it.
Placing the clean dishes on the drying rack, I turn around and find Paisley perched on the counter. She grips the lip of the counter with two hands, legs dangling. She smiles at me, her face open and bright, and asks, “What’s next?”
Am I crazy to be contemplating what it would be like to step between her legs? To weave my hands through her hair and ease her body into mine, pausing for a breath with our lips nearly touching?
I would make up for that failed drunken kiss so long ago. I’d make up for it tenfold.
Her eyes are on me. Watching, waiting. For what? For me to make the move? Does she want it? Does she wantme? Does Paisley Royce want a struggling writer, a guy who tends bar and slings words and feels too much?
Her chest rises and falls with her breath, her breasts straining against that silk button-up shirt.
I take a step in her direction. Then I take two more. I stop a foot away from her, taking in the moment, waiting for her to say or do something that will alter my trajectory. The air between us is charged, electric, a current running over my body.
Paisley speaks. “At some point we should probably get used to kissing each other. It might be awkward if our first kiss happens in front of my family.” She blushes. “Aside from that other time when we were young and very drunk. That one didn’t count.”
“So you’re telling me you want to practice kissing?” I attempt to keep my voice neutral, like this isn’t the best news since I typed THE END on my manuscript.
“We don’t have to.” The words hastily trip out of her mouth. “If you’d rather not show any affection in front of my family, I understand. We can tell them we’re not a PDA kind of couple. It’s totally fine.”
“No.”
“No?”
I might be getting six months of pro bono digital marketing, but the real win is getting to be affectionate with Paisley.
“Practice,” I draw out the word, stepping up between her legs, my hands on the cool countertop flanking her thighs, “makes perfect. Preparation is essential to the success of any good charade.” My eyebrows rise, waitingfor her response. Internally, my whole body holds a breath.
She leans closer, teasing the tip of my nose with her own. Her eyes are wide, vulnerable, waiting for me to make a move, telling me she wants me to.
With a low rumble in my throat, I say, “I think practice is?—”
A knock on my door steals my attention. I’m not expecting a visitor, and anybody who knows me knows better than to randomly drop in.
I back off, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. Disappointment colors Paisley’s expression.
I try not to stomp to the door, but I fail. Behind me comes the soft thud of Paisley hopping down off the counter.
“This had better be really fucking important,” I grumble, opening the door.
I flinch, surprised to see a familiar face. “Megan?”
“Klein, hi.” She smiles. It wasn’t too long ago that smile made me happy, and frustrated when it went away. The longer we dated, the more elusive that smile became, and the harder I worked to bring it back. Funny how something I put effort into is now something I don’t care to see.
All I care about right now is my near-kiss with Paisley.That was interrupted by my ex.
I lean against the door, hoping my irritation isn’t obvious on my face. “What’s up? Did you come across more of my books?”
“Uh, no,” she shakes her head. “I was actually hoping we could talk.”
