But I wanted to touch him, feel him, make him feel even a fraction of what he talked me through? It’d be my pleasure. But maybe he was right. We should stop here.
“I don’t want this to change anything.” I dug my teeth into my lower lip. “I like you.”
He let out a long exhale. “I like you too, Clover.” He brushed his knuckles down my cheek. “It’s hormones, right? We’re here to help each other, and you needed me.”
Hormones. He was giving me an out. A get-out-of-this-awkwardness-free card. Would it be enough? I had to find out. Because I did not want to return to the cold Van from after our kiss. My nod was shaky.
Satisfaction gleamed in his eyes. “Let’s get you tucked in.”
Chapter Fourteen
Van
* * *
I scrubbed a hand down my face and stared at my computer screen. For the last week, we hadn’t touched each other. We’d gone to sleep after the bathroom interlude and pretended everything was normal the next morning. Then we returned home, pillow wall in place, and acted like nothing had changed. Perhaps it hadn’t for her.
To me, everything had changed. I could compartmentalize before. I could tell myself my brother’s ex was a beautiful woman, but I wasn’t attracted to her. I could concentrate on work despite Clover being under the same roof.
Having her come in my arms shattered all that. I was attracted to my brother’s ex. Worse, I craved her. Thoughts of her consumed my time. Yesterday, I had nearly missed a call with a potential investor because I’d been listening to her on the phone with her team. I’d been hanging on her melodious laugh and recalling how tight she’d gripped my fingers when she’d climaxed.
Fuck.
I had it bad.
My screen blinked out. How long had I been doing nothing? It was Saturday, but I had taken refuge in my office.
I checked the time. We were set to leave in a few minutes for Bismarck. I had accepted that I’d lose every Pokémon match and call it quits early.
There was a light knock at the door. “Hey. Ready?”
“Yeah.” My backpack with my card decks and play mat were packed. Part of me hadn’t wanted her to see that the hobby my brother used to tease me about involved supplies and organization and meticulous research into card types and value. She’d been accepting, but what if there were limits?
Once we loaded up, she glanced in the back seat. “A backpack is all you need?”
“That’s it.”
“I thought there’d be more.”
“Well, it’s a card game.”
She crossed one leg over the other. “There’re only cards?”
Despite wanting to hide it from her, I also couldn’t wait to talk about it. “Most of us keep the more valuable cards in a binder, and sometimes we trade those.”
“It’s like baseball cards? My dad talked about collecting those.”
I nodded, relieved there was no criticism in her voice. “Exactly. My card boxes are full of my playing cards.”
“You have a lot?”
“Yes.” When she didn’t react to that, I continued. “I’ve collected them since I was in middle school. I kept those and continued over the years, then the gatherings started at game shops and grew. It was a fairly cheap hobby to stick with when I was broke as hell.”
“I like that.”
Pleased and more than a little relieved, I hit the highway, and it went quiet again.
Her phone started buzzing. For the next several minutes, she tapped away at her screen.
