I frown. “Did so. I told you it was a mutual decision, and we’re better as friends.”
“Then why not tell me about it right away? Why were you acting weird the whole time you were together?”
“I wasn’t,” I lie. Then add, “Not thewholetime.”
Robbie sets his plate on the coffee table and stands. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he’s walked to my bed, grabbed my stuffed otter, and brought him back.
“No.” My face goes scorching when I remember exactly what that otter witnessed just an hour ago. “Absolutely not. Not Hippyottermus. This is a stupid, childish game, and we are both adults?—”
I break off when Robbie plunks himself down next to me—not in his usual, already-too-close-for-comfort spot, but literally smushed against my side with no air between us.
His molecules are touching my molecules.
He’s warm and smells delicious, and my heart cannot cope. It’s a ping-pong ball launched from a cannon, ricocheting around my chest.
“I’m sorry it’s come to this, Amesie,” Robbie says, not sounding sorry at all. “But remember, you brought it on yourself. You know the rules. When you’re holding Hippy, you need to tell theottertruth and nothing but the truth.”
A bubble of desperate laughter escapes me. “I hate you so much.”
“Tsk. I’ll let that lie slide,” he says, taking my plate and setting it down beside his own before forcing the stuffed animal into my lap. “Because you weren’t holding Hippy yet.”
“Why, whyyyy, are we friends?” I demand of the ceiling. “Was it a witch’s curse? Should I call Clay Marsh and ask him? He seems to know about supernatural shit.”
“Hush. Now, tell me what really happened with Erick.” Robbie catches my eye, and despite his teasing, I can see that this has really been bothering him. “Please, Amesie?”
I sigh. It’s thepleaseand not the otter that makes me give in.
“Erick and I… There was no chemistry there. We were only ever friends.” I stroke Hippy’s soft, worn fur. “I was embarrassed to admit that, considering my public declaration.” I meet his gaze defiantly. “But I was done pretending.”
“Ames.” Robbie shakes his head. “You could’ve told me. What’d you think I’d do, mock you? Jesus.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe storm into my restaurant and practically challenge Erick to a duel over my honor—oh, no, wait, that’s whatactuallyhappened.”
“I did not! But I would’ve,” he admits. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Ames Axford.”
Robbie stares at me. I stare back. The air between us goes thick and syrupy and slow. His gaze drops to my mouth, then zings back to my eyes, then slowly drops down again like he can’t help himself.
He leans toward me like a glacier—half an inch at a time, an inevitable slow-mo slide. My body’s frozen, but my eyes zip around his face, from the flecks of gold in his green eyes, to the patch of stubble he neglected to shave, to his tongue, which darts out to wet his lips.
My breath stutters and then stops altogether, and I instinctively lean in too. Closer.Closer. Robbie’s breath ghosts across my face. I part my lips?—
Robbie’s phone sounds loudly on the coffee table, and we jump apart like we’ve been electrocuted.
“I—” He lurches to his feet and runs a hand through his hair. “That’s my bedtime alarm. I just remembered I have to… sleep.” He sweeps both hands toward the door. “At home. So.”
“No, yeah, totally. It’s… dark out there. Definitely sleeping time.” I clutch Hippy like a shield and direct my gaze toward the geographic center of Robbie’s broad chest.
“Thanks for dinner.” Robbie scoots between the sofa and coffee table without touching me, then grabs his jacket from the hook by the door. He barely stops to pull it on. “See you.”
“Yeah, I’ll—” My door slams shut. “—see you,” I whisper to the empty room.
For a full minute, my body remains locked in place as I try to process what just happened.
Was that?—?
Did we?—?
“Fuck,” I groan.
