Then another step.
We can just talk. Talking is good.
The wooden planks creak under my feet, each sound an echo in the silence, as I make my way down the hall to the kitchen.
Kat is still sitting at the table, her fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee, her eyes fixed on the steam rising from the surface. Vince's old college band T-shirt hangs off one shoulder, her hair is a pile of curls on top of her head, looking more beautiful than she has any right to.
She looks up as I step into the room, and my stomach flips.
"Hey," she says softly, and I have to remind myself I’m not dreaming. "Everything okay?"
“I think so,” I say, taking a seat across from her, the space between us feeling both too small and too vast. “I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
“Sorry, that’s probably my fault.” Her voice is hesitant, like she’s unsure if she should be apologizing or not.
“No," I say, shaking my head. "Not your fault."
Kat exhales, her shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” I ask, getting right to the point.
She shakes her head, her curls bouncing slightly.
A smug smile spreads across my face. “So, I was your first?”
Kat’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and she ducks her head, but I can see the way her lips twitch—like she’s trying not to grin. “Yes.”
The admission settles between us, warm and electric. I lean back in my chair, studying her. The morning light filters through the window, catching the red in her hair, making it glow like fire. She’s so fucking beautiful it hurts.
“And? How was it?”
“And,” she begins. “It was…everything. I mean, I’ve thought about it. A lot. I’ve always known I was at least bi curious, but I’ve never had the guts to actually flirt with a woman, let alone kiss one.”
“What’s different about me?”
“Well,” she says, pushing herself up from the table and slowly making her way around toward me. “For starters, you never made me feel like I was an intruder in your friendship with Vince. I always felt pulled to you.”
She stops next to me and leans back against the table. Suddenly, every word out of her mouth becomes static. She’s still talking, her lips are moving, but all my brain registers is theexpanse of her bare thighs. Her pink shorts are gone. Vince’s old shirt hits her mid-thigh, the fabric clings to her body, the way her nipples press against the thin cotton, the way her thighs part just slightly as she leans back against the table—it’s all too much.
I swallow hard, trying to focus on her words, but my eyes keep drifting down her body.
An apology makes its way through the fog of my lust, and I look up at her, meeting her gaze, to find the same hunger reflected in her eyes that I feel burning inside me.
"You're so fucking beautiful," I say, interrupting her, my voice rough with need. I haven’t heard a word she’s said in the last thirty seconds.
She smiles, a slow, wicked curve of her lips that sends a jolt of heat straight to my core.
“Beauty doesn’t excuse my actions. I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I’m sorry for being so forward.”
“I’m not,” I say, unwilling to filter myself around her anymore.
My fingertips brush the outside of her thigh, just above her knee. A shock of warmth jolts up my arm.Fuck. She’s so smooth. She doesn’t flinch; she leans into it. Her breath hitches, and a slow smile curves her lips. She doesn’t move away. Every daydream I’ve ever locked away is screaming in my head.
She bites her lower lip, a gesture so unconsciously vulnerable it makes my chest ache.
“Ollie.” Her voice is a whisper. “Can I kiss you again?”
“You can do anything you want with me,” I whisper back.
