His jaw flexes, and briefly, I wonder what he knows about my relationship with Neil. Clearly, he knows something because the mention of him has the muscles along the side of his face working. “I’m not him.”
I shrug. “You don’t even know him. You have no idea if you’re like him.”
He steps closer, and this time, there’s little less than a foot between us. I have to look up to peer into his eyes, but I hold my ground.
Or I try to anyway. I can feel the beginnings of a tremble.
God, those eyes. They beg me to overshare, to spill all of my secrets to see if he can weld the broken pieces of my heart that refuse to mend back together.
I clench my jaw.I won’t give in. I won’t give in. I won’t.
“Why won’t you give me a chance to prove it to you then?”
“Because I don’t know you,” I whisper.
“You could know me. I’m a good guy.”
I blow out a shaky breath. His nearness is making my heart skip beats. “Good guys don’t have one-night stands.”
A small smile plays at his lips. “What about good girls? Because if I remember right, you made the first move.”
“I did not,” I say, tasting the lie. I look away as my cheeks heat.
Slowly, carefully, as if not to scare me off, he curls his hand under my chin and turns my face back to his. His touch sends a shiver down my spine. “You did,” he murmurs.
My breathing picks up pace as his gaze bores into mine. His hand remains where it is, making sure I don’t look away from him. A silent communication passes between us once more, and something builds in the small space between us. An electric charge. A tug of war, begging our chests to close the space.
His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and my eyes zoom to it. With his lips still parted, he blows out a shaky breath, and it fans my face, smelling just as delicious as he does.
I shouldn’t be feeling something. My heart shouldn’t beat harder when another guy is around. I swore off men. I turned my back on them. So why is my body betraying me? Why is my heart begging me to give him what he wants even if I don’t fully know what he wants from me?
With that question in mind, I flick my gaze back to his. “What do you want from me?” I ask him quietly.
His eyes are on my lips, but he bends down, and his lips touch my ear when he whispers, “I want you, Avery Moore. More than anything, I want to get to know you. I want you to get to know me. I want to see where this leads because I know for damn sure that I’m not the only one who feels something. It wasn’t a one-night stand. It was the beginning of something else, and you and I both know it.”
I open my mouth to say something, but his lips press against my jaw, a subtle kiss that makes my heart pound against my ribs. The hand holding my chin moves along the other side of my jaw and to the back of my head, tangling in my hair as he presses another kiss to my jaw, closer to my lips.
The heat of his body presses into mine as he scoots closer. His lips find the corner of my mouth, and it takes everything in me not to turn my head slightly and take his lips with my own. I want to. I’ve never wanted anything more. What could it hurt? To taste him one more time? To see if there are any sparks?
I bet there would be sparks. I bet it would be mind-blowing.
His eyes look into mine, a question in them, and when I don’t reject him, he moves his lips over mine.
The back door slams shut, and laughter fills the house. We separate so fast that my head spins at the sudden absence of him. With a good five feet between us, Reid rubs at his jaw as everyone piles into the kitchen with the ribs on a tray in my father’s hands.
What the hell just happened?
A football game plays on the living room television, but the only one watching it is Dustin. The food has been devoured, and our neighbors have returned home. My father is outside, closing down the grill, and Reid is in the kitchen with my mother, helping her wash dishes. I watch them for a moment, but I need space to breathe, our almost kiss still fresh on my mind.
So I step out to the living room with so many questions on my mind that I just need a moment to myself. I forgot Dustin was in here, but it isn’t a hardship. Maybe I can learn a thing or two while I have him to myself.
I plop down onto the couch next to him, pretending to be interested in the sport for a few moments before I slouch back and lean my head on his shoulder.
He pats my head absentmindedly and then hoots and hollers when there’s a touchdown.
Once he settles down, I start in on the questions. “So, Reid. How did you meet?”
Without looking at me, he says, “At a party.”
