“And here you are.”
Smith exhaled. “Here I am.”
A silence just on the right side of uncomfortable settled between us, and I ignored it in favor of another drink of tea. Smith swirled the bag around his before doing the same.
“Do you like it?” I asked.
The way his face contorted at the question had me feeling like the answer was much more complicated than would be polite for the early hour. He shifted his focus from me to my plants, then shrugged his shoulders.
“Sometimes. Yes? I don’t know. I’ve been worried lately I only enjoy architecture because it’s what Marshall enjoys.”
“Maybe try something new?” I suggested.
“It’s not quite that easy.” He got more comfortable on my couch.
He. Got. More. Comfortable. On. My. Couch.
“I’d have to go to school all over again,” he said. “There’s time and money in it.”
Something about the comment was a splash of cold water, the shock I needed to break myself out of the trance that was Smith.
“Not all jobs need schooling,” I told him, standing up and heading back into my kitchen. I tossed the rest of my tea into the sink and rinsed the mug. Dried it.
“I didn’t mean they did.”
The regret was thick in his voice, and I subconsciously knew he hadn’t meant the comment in a bad way. Smith and I had lived very different lives, and it didn’t matter how much I liked the look of him or how much I really liked that my hoodie smelled a little like him, it was bad form to get involved with clients. Bad form to get involved with men ten years younger than I was. Damon would throw me off the roof if he knew I was even entertaining the idea.
I turned and braced myself against the counter, giving Smith what I hoped read as an apologetic smile.
“I just remembered I have some interviews this morning,” I told him. “I should get my day going.”
He jumped off the couch like he’d been bit by a snake. “Right.”
His cheeks were still flushed, and I wondered if it was permanent. If he would be forever cursed to look embarrassed and aroused. “You’re so right. I’m sorry to intrude on your morning.”
He shoved the mug at me, and my fingers brushed against the warmth of his palm as I curled my grip around the ceramic.
“You didn’t intrude.”
I switched the mug from one hand to the other and grabbed him so he didn’t run away. I wanted him to run away. I didn’t want him to run away. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew Smith reminded me a little bit of a kicked puppy, and I definitely didn’t want him to leave feeling like I had added to that in any way.
“It’s fine,” he said.
“You didn’t intrude,” I repeated, holding him until he looked at me.
His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and his jaw went a little slack. Smith’s pupils dilated, and I was done for.
“Okay,” he agreed quietly.
It hurt to breathe, but I managed, eyes tracking over every fine line and scar on Smith’s face. His lips were dry, chapped, save for the place where they were wet with tea. Everything narrowed down to Smith’s mouth, the way he licked his lips and bit the bottom one between his teeth. It wasn’t much of a stretch to imagine him on his back making the same kinds of faces, eyes rolled into his head and chin quivering.
“Smith.”
“Yeah?” He blinked hard and fast.
“You should go.”
A knowing kind of hurt flashed across his face, like it wasn’t the first time he’d been dismissed when he wasn’t ready to go. He tried to pull away, but my hand tightened around his and stopped him.
