The moment I give my ass a little shove against him, he steps back, pulling free of my grip on his sweater. Fucker.
“Nice try,” he laughs. Like I didn’t just feel howtotallyinto what was happening he was. “We’re still eating, I’m just not sure I have anything else decent to cook for you. Want to see if the roads have thawed out enough for anyone to be willing to deliver takeout?”
“Sure,” I grin at him. “Except you do know I haveallnight to wear you down after that, right?”
There’s no way I’m imagining the flare of heat in Jesse’s eyesas he quickly turns away from me, pretending to be very busy all of a sudden, looking up restaurants on his phone. Andohhh, I fuckingloveit.
22
Jesse
Ican’t believe how natural this feels. Maybe it’s the undeniable hominess of sharing my apartment, even just for a couple nights, or maybe it’s Tris and the bubbly way he draws me out about one light topic after another. Whatever it is, nothing about the evening feels forced. Instead, it just feels right.
It’s probably deeply dangerous to let myself think it, and yet, as I surreptitiously watch him tucking the leftovers into the fridge now that he’s finished meticulously arranging the condiment bottles in the door organizers, I can’t help it. All night the thought has been at the edge of my mind, speeding my pulse and making my heart leap.
Falling for him would be the easiest thing in the world.
After the closed-off guardedness I’ve let overtake me since Stephen died, the realization of that is as terrifying as it is thrilling.
And when I kissed him out on the porch… And, Jesus, fuck, in the kitchen…
Last night and this morning in my bed had already convinced me of what I pretty much already knew. That getting physical with Tristan could never be anything butexplosive; a far cry from the rote, empty acting out of motions I’ve tried to convince myself to enjoy in the last few years.
And, if I’m honest, a world away even from the familiar, sweet yet passionless intimacy I’d shared with Stephen.
A tight knot of guilt swells in my throat at that thought, and I swallow hard, driving it down.
Mostly.
There’s no ignoring the half exhilarating, half anxiously sick swoop my stomach gives every time I think of how intense and intoxicating the feel of Tristan’s lips was. How his body called to mine, driving me wild, making me want to forget every ounce of caution and dive headfirst into anything and everything with him. Because being sure of something andknowingit like I do now are two different things, and now I have no idea how I’m going to heed that wary voice in the back of my head telling me to take things slowly. Urging me to protect my heart from breaking all over again.
Not taking Tristan up on his invitation to join him in his bath was my one last-ditch effort to hold back from giving in and letting myself get swept up in the temptation he’s been torturing me with for the last twenty-four hours.
I’d wanted to. So damn badly that it’s likely a good thing the dinner was ruined, because it was probably crap already for all the attention I’d been paying to what I’d been cooking.
The moment he’d invited me though, I’d been suddenly consumed by a nauseating, freezing certainty that, if I followed after Tristan and gave in to everything I want with him, it would be an unforgivable betrayal to Stephen. Despite the fact that it was only a moment before the rational part of my brain overthrew that thought, it had left me clammy and short of breath, paralyzed by the lingering guilt I couldn’t quiteshake.
And so I’d just stood there, attempting to calm myself through the familiar steps of cooking, unable to peel my eyes away from the bathroom door, trying to stop myself from imagining him in there, waiting for me. As the minutes ticked by though, the guilty haze of that strange moment of panic melted away, replaced by a smoldering and then burning desire to let myself have everything I’d just denied myself.
By the time Tristan stepped out of the bathroom, pink-skinned and covered by nothing but that goddamn towel, looking at me with that knowing smirk, I just snapped. There wasn’t any room in my head for hesitation or guilt or any other useless thought. There was only him.
The trouble is that our kiss in the kitchen has shattered my resolve. There’s no way I’ll be able to make it through another night without giving in to the need for him that’s been threatening to consume me ever since I got that first intoxicating taste of his perfect lips.
If it hadn’t been for that damn garlic bread nearly burning the building down, it would have already happened.
By the time I’ve finished rinsing the last dish and drying my hands, Tristan’s drifted off to the piano. Quietly, I follow after him, stopping short to watch as he brushes his slim, graceful fingers over the keys in silent appreciation.
With each movement, the black vine-like patterns of ink on his left hand seem to twine and curl, and it’s so mesmerizingly beautiful I can’t look away until his sleek black bangs slip down over his forehead. Without looking up from the keys, he gives his head that small toss to flick the hair back out of his eyes, and the now familiar gesture draws my gaze up to his face.
The set of his lips is serious, like he’s lost in thoughts fartheroff than the instrument he’s scrutinizing, and for one brief moment, he completely matches that mental image I’d had of the brooding, melancholy pianist. More than anything, I want to come up behind him and pull him back into my arms, but, despite the fact that I can still feel the heat and simmering tingle from the fierce need with which we’d made out before dinner, I can’t seem to work up the courage now.
Instead, I hang back, watching from the safety of arm’s length.
Yes, I believe him that he wants me. Christ, how could I not?
But more than that? I have no idea, and, as I continue my own seemingly unstoppable plunge into infatuation, that uncertainty terrifies me. After so long protecting my heart from hurt, I don’t know how it could survive that fall if he isn’t there too, waiting to catch me.
“Is it a good one?” I hadn’t meant to break the silence of his inspection of the piano, but as I’d watched that sexy dimple deepen in his cheek, I’d had to know what caused his smile.
