“But you were right: it is up to me.”
“But I could’ve told you that I didn’t want you to.”
“You could.” I stretched out my legs, the velvet of his sofa feeling soft against my skin. “Why didn’t you.”
He held a cushion to his chest and hugged it. “That meant I was promising you something I don’t how to give.”
“What do you mean?”
“That if you don’t date someone else because of me, then we have something more than just one more night.”
He still wasn’t giving anything away.
“Is that what you want? More than one more night?”
He didn’t say anything, his dark eyes full of the words I knew he couldn’t say.
“Yes. But I don’t know how that looks. I don’t know if I’ll scare you. Or myself. Or if you’ll say no again.”
This was the step off the precipice, the leap of faith – or madness – into the unknown. “I won’t say no. I don’t know how my future looks or where I want to be. I can’t promise anything.”
He nodded. “I understand that. But this is more than just friends.”
* * *
Student night on a Thursday.Late lectures Friday morning. A long day with a test that had been harder than anyone had anticipated. And too many shots of something sweet and sticky.
Jonah had gone home early for the weekend for his sister’s birthday, making us promise to take decent notes in tomorrow’s lectures. I wasn’t thinking about tomorrow, today was enough to process.
“Another shot?” Callum put a hand on the wall next to me. “It’ll dull the pain.”
I shook my head. I’d had enough and I knew my limits. Any more and my head would pound in the morning like a horse was galloping on the spot.
“I’d call you a lightweight, but I’ve had enough too.”
I gave him a smile, seeing the lights catch his cheekbones and jaw, making him look more like a model than usual. He’d turned down all the girls tonight; I’d heard a couple of them complaining that he wasn’t interested and then spout some rumour that he was secretly dating one of the tutors. He quite possibly was.
“Want to dance?” He offered his hand.
“Why not?” Jonah wouldn’t mind. We were all friends. He didn’t bat an eyelid when I went for breakfast or coffee with Callum. He wasn’t jealous like that.
The music was heavy and fast, old-school house that wasn’t my favourite but no one cared about it; it was just a chance to let off steam.
We danced with our arms around each other, friends, friends who were platonic. Nothing else there.
I couldn’t look in his eyes.
We were close, the dance floor packed, the buzz from the alcohol thickening my head. I was sweaty and laughing, twisting in his hold, his chest to my back, pressed up against each other.
Just friends.
I felt his hips push into my ass, felt the hardness of his erection. Felt the heat between my own legs. His arm was around me, just under my breasts and my head tipped back on his shoulder.
We weren’t really dancing anymore.
I wasn’t sure whether we were really friends.
* * *
