My hands linger at the top before smoothing the fabric around her waist. Finding where it bunches. Making excuses to keep touching her.
"Does it look better now?"
"Hmm. Turn around."
She turns in the small space between me and the mirror. Now we're facing each other. Inches apart. My hands still on her waist.
This is dangerous. This is breaking the rules. There's no one watching. No reason to touch her except I can't seem to stop.
Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, and she's looking at my mouth the same way I must be looking at hers.
One of us should move. Step back. Laugh it off. Make a joke about the dress and reset this before we do something we can't take back.
One second, we're inches apart, and the next, the space between us completely disappears.
Our mouths crash, and whatever coherent thought I had disintegrates into dust.
It's desperate and hungry.
Her nails claw on my biceps and forearm, and I back her against the mirror. She makes little gasps and whimpers that make me weak with wanting.
I'm already hard. Have been since she walked out of that bathroom. Since she asked me to zip her dress. Since forever. But now it's almost to the point of pain.
My hands slide from her waist up her ribs, and she clings to me. The dress is in the way. Everything's in the way. I want her out of this thing, want her out of everything.
My mouth moves from her lips to her jaw. Her throat. Her collarbone.
"Dean—"
"Tell me to stop." I'm kissing down her neck, tasting her skin.
"Stop."
I freeze.
"I don't want you to stop. But our rules, remember? No one is watching us here. I need to process what is happening."
I place a finger under her chin and raise her eyes to mine. "Hey, we've been friends forever, well, for so long now I've lost count of the years. You know how we complete each other. Christ, we talk like a married couple, we tell lies like a tag team."
"Yes, but why have we always drawn a line. We've never crossed these lines. Why?"
I draw in a breath. It's a good question. "I don't know, Liz, I wish I did, but I just don't fucking know."
"I think I've been too terrified to lose a wonderful friend."
"Yes, that's true for me, too, but now I feel like I am more than just your friend."
She flops back onto the bed. "Shit, if we don't have the courage to cross those fucking lines, I guess we'll never know."
She springs up. "I know." She runs to her laptop and goes berserk on the keys, flashes her fingers across the touchpad. She clicks. Maura appears in a video. "If Maura is watching us, does this count?"
That's all the permission I need as I drop to my knees.
She runs over and bounds onto the bed.
I've imagined this. Late nights when I couldn't sleep, mornings in the shower, every time she's close enough to smell and I can't have her.
Now I can.
