She lets the door fall shut and stays there with her back against it. I’m only a few steps in, but it already feels like I’ve moved too close to something that’ll burn if I touch it.
“I don’t want to fight,” she murmurs.
“Me either.”
“I don’t want to feel stupid.”
“I don’t want you to either.”
“Then stop making me.”
It stirs something in me, but I can’t help the small smile that pulls at my mouth. “Working on it.”
“Work faster.”
I let out a short laugh. “Okay.”
We stand there, close but not close enough. The air feels heavy between us.
“I didn’t want to wake you,” I say, because admitting I wanted to touch her is too close to the truth.
She watches me. “Why?”
I shrug. “You looked peaceful,” I say. “And I don’t seem to be the one to give you that.”
Her lips part, but she doesn’t say anything. I can’t tell if that’s good or if I just made this worse.
“Tess,” I say, quieter now. “Tell me to go.”
She swallows, her fingers curling against the door behind her like she needs something solid to hold on to. “I don’t want to.”
The floor might as well shift under me. Two steps and I’m standing in front of her, close enough to see the freckles on her nose and the flush in her cheeks. Her braid tugs the neckline of her sweatshirt lower, like she’s seeing how far she can push before I break.
“Okay,” I say, and my voice sounds rougher than I meant it to. “Then I’m going to kiss you.”
She nods once, and that’s all I need.
I don’t rush it. Maybe because I’ve spent too long pretending I didn’t want this, and I want to feel the moment that lie gives out. My hand finds her jaw, her skin warm under my palm. She exhales quietly, and it hits me harder than it should.
I kiss her.
It’s not gentle, but it’s not rough either. It’s what happens when you finally release the ropes holding you back. She meets me halfway, like she’s been waiting for it just as long. My other hand finds her hip, solid under my fingers, and the door gives a dull thud when her shoulders hit it.
She tastes like mint and heat and everything I’ve been missing. I try not to think, but it’s pointless. Every thought keeps dragging me back to her mouth and the sound she makes when I pull her closer.
“Clay,” she says against my mouth.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her. It’s the only thing I can give, and somehow it’s enough.
Her hands slide under my shirt, fingers warm against my skin. The sound that escapes me is more of a low growl, sending a shiver down her spine.
We move toward the bed, stumbling a little. The frame hits the back of my knees, and I sit before I go down. She follows, one knee on the mattress, one hand still gripping my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
“I kept telling myself I was fine,” she says, breath catching. “That I didn’t care.”
“How’d that go?”
“Terribly.”
