THIRTY-FOUR
The poetry slamwas something else.
Yawning, I stretch my arms and rub my eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of last night’s late hours. I check my phone for the time, and find it’s already afternoon. Hanging out with Adam was a nice change of pace, even though he doesn’t care for poetry. He joins me with one primary goal in mind—picking up girls. Which I usually don’t mind because, let’s be honest, I never go home alone after one of these nights.
But not last night.
Last night was different. None of the girls at the slam caught my attention. My mind was elsewhere, which irked me.
The little cockblocking siren still lingers in my thoughts as I make my way to the kitchen. It’s like a gravitational pull. No one has had this kind of effect on me, and it’s unnerving.
Turning the corner, I catch sight of her sitting at the kitchen table, and it’s as if my heart skips a beat.
Fuck.
It’s not like me to be flustered, but there is something about her that does it every fucking time. I can’t help but wonder if she’s been thinking about me too.
She would deny it, of course.
Maybe I need to kiss it out of her again.
When I sit beside Sloan, she doesn’t even look up from her laptop. She sips her tea before she sets it back down, and without thinking, I reach out and take a sip from her mug. Her sudden glare makes me grin.
“Good morning, pretty girl. What are you doing?” I ask, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen.
“Looking for a used heater,” she mutters, her voice distant and distracted as her fingers dance across the keyboard.
“Why?” I press on, my curiosity getting the better of me. “You can stay here. Why do you want to leave so fast?” She’s avoiding something, and I can’t quite put my finger on what.
I’m used to being the one who leaves others wanting, but here, with her, the tables are turned, and I’m the one grasping. “Why are you ignoring me?” I finally ask, unable to endure the awkward tension any longer. I lean in, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin, close enough that if she looked up, our lips would be just inches apart.
She pauses, and I know I’ve caught her attention, even if she is pretending otherwise. Sloan finally turns to face me, and it’s like staring into the sun. Her glare softens just for a moment, and I see the conflict raging behind her eyes. It’s the same storm that has been brewing inside me since I met her, a tempest of desire and defiance.
Her mouth opens, then closes, and she shakes her head, a silent admission that she has no answer for me. For a second, I think she might lean into me, close the final distance. But instead, she takes a deep breath and turns back to her laptop, the shield between us once again.
“What’s got you running so hot and cold? Friday night, you were all fire and ice, and now you’re here, acting like I’m nothing more than a ghost.”
She freezes and tenses up before finally replying tersely, “I’m not,” her attention fixed on the laptop screen. I reach out to brush a strand of her hair away from her face, but she leans away from my touch as if my presence is unwelcome.
Why is she avoiding my touch now? She was practically begging for it.
I thought we had fun.
Fun I wouldn’t mind repeating, even if it’s dangerous.
My mind races back to our night together. It was even better than the first time. Maybe that’s because I know her now, but it’s best I don’t dwell on it too much.
She fell asleep under me while I was still deep inside her, and I watched her sleep for a few moments, her long lashes resting on her cheeks. I remember thinking how perfect she was, every detail of her face etched into my memory. That’s when it hit me. I needed to get the hell out of there before I caught feelings.
It was a terrifying realization, one that sent panic surging through me.
Is she pissed because I left?
She must be wondering why I disappeared without a word or any explanation.
But how could I tell her the truth?
I left because I couldn’t bear the intensity of the moment. Because I was afraid of what it meant to catch feelings for you?
