His expression shifts—surprised, perhaps, that I remember his exact words. Of course I do. They’re responsible for the bags under my eyes.
“I didn’t mean the sex was a mistake. If you had just let me explain,” he says, dropping to a baritone that melts my insides. “I meant the location. The timing. Not… us.”
Us. The word hangs between us like a loaded gun.
The relief that cocoons me after his admission is strangely foreign. The worry that’s been festering in my chest since Saturday night finally dissipates. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear that he doesn’t regret what we did.
I sit with his words for a moment, churning them over in my mind. He’s right. I know he’s right. Our timing was reckless, and our location was impulsive. The night was about celebrating April and James and their deserved happiness, but we made it about us instead. I practically ran out of their dinner after the guest room incident. We put ourselves in a position to hurt Anna—someone we both care for tremendously.
His concern wasn’t rejection; it was consideration. For Anna. For us.
“I was going to call you,” he says.
“I wouldn’t have answered,” I reply, suddenly finding my cuticles interesting.
“Look at me, please,” he commands.
I lift my eyes.
“Right,” I say, keeping my tone easy. “Well, thank you for the clarification. And the coffee.” I gesture to my computer screen. “But I really do have work to finish before the meeting.”
“Gemma, I can see that you’re playing Minecraft in the reflection of your glasses.”
Shit.
I quickly close the Minecraft window, only for it to minimize and reveal the jeweled butt plug I was looking at on a sex toy website.
I slam my laptop closed, feeling heat burn up my neck.
The corner of his mouth twitches. He definitely saw that.
“Was there something else you needed?” I ask, attempting to salvage any remaining dignity.
He lifts his chin. “Have dinner with me.”
“That didn’t sound like a question,” I retort.
“It wasn’t.”
My heart does a ridiculous flutter in my chest. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I say.
“Why not?” His eyes never leave mine, intense and searching.
Because you’re my best friend’s brother. Because you’re only in London temporarily. Because I can still feel your hands on my skin and your lips on my mouth, and it’s driving me insane. Because “nothing” is starting to feel like “something,” and that is terrifying.
These thoughts pick at me, pulling a loose thread begging to be unwound. But instead, I repress them and say, “Dinner was never part of the deal.”
“The deal’s changed.”
“You can’t just go changing the rules. You’re the one who enforced them in the first place.” I take another sip.
“And I’m the one changing them.”
I cross my legs. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
“Give me one dinner to make it up to you.”
“What do I get out of it?”
