She was close. Close enough that I could see the pulse jumping in her throat. Close enough that if I leaned forward,just a few inches, I could find out if her lips were as soft as they looked.
Friends. You promised her that.
I turned back to the movie. Pretended I could focus on anything but the heat of her beside me.
An hour later, her head started tipping back against the cushions. Her eyes drifted closed, snapped open, then drifted again.
"Maya, " I said softly. "You're falling asleep."
"I'm fine." Her voice was thick. "Just resting my eyes. I want to see how it ends."
"The guy gets the girl. They always do."
"You don't know that."
"It's a romantic comedy. I absolutely know that."
She laughed, but it turned into a yawn she couldn't hide. Her eyes were barely open now, her body listing sideways toward the arm of the couch, giving in.
"Come on." I stood and held out my hand. "Bed. Real bed."
She looked at my hand for a moment, then took it. Her fingers were warm and small in mine. I pulled her up, and she swayed, exhaustion making her clumsy. My other hand went to her waist to steady her instinctively, and suddenly her body pressed against mine, close and warm, her face tilted up, her lips inches away.
She didn't step back.
I should have. I should have let go, said goodnight, and walked out the door like a gentleman.
Instead, I walked her to her bedroom. I kept my hand on the small of her back because she was still unsteady, or that’s whatI told myself, because I couldn’t make myself stop touching her. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes, and I made the mistake of looking back.
The thin strap of her tank top had slipped again. Her hair was falling across her face. Her lips were parted, soft, and somehow I knew exactly how she would taste.
I wanted to push her back against the pillows. I wanted to follow her down, cover her body with mine, kiss her until neither of us could think straight. I wanted to peel that tank top off and map every inch of her skin with my hands. My mouth. My tongue.
But I didn't.
Friends. You promised her that.
"Goodnight, Maya."
My voice came out rough. Wrecked. If she noticed, she didn't say anything.
"Goodnight, Shane." She smiled, small and sleepy. "Thank you for dinner."
I made myself turn around. I made myself walk out of her room, out of her apartment, into the hallway where I couldn't do anything stupid.
I locked the door behind me and stood there for a moment, forehead pressed against the wood, trying to get my breathing under control.
I drove home through streets I’d known my whole life, on autopilot.
I could still feel her. The weight of her against my chest when she’d swayed into me earlier. The warmth of her back under mypalm. The way she'd looked up at me from her bed, soft and trusting and so beautiful it hurt to breathe.
Goodnight, Shane.
I gripped the steering wheel harder.
She was exhausted. Running on fumes, willpower, and the stubborn belief that she had to do everything alone. Tonight had been rare. One night without grading, without obligations, without the weight of the world on her shoulders. And even then, she'd barely made it to ten o'clock before her body gave out.
I couldn't fix that. Couldn't make her slow down. Couldn't carry the weight she insisted on shouldering herself.
