But the idea of never seeing her again, nevertouchingher again, hurts more than I want to admit.
I’ve had flings before. Casual, uncomplicated arrangements. Some lasted weeks. Some months. When they ended, I moved on without looking back. Never thought of them. Never craved them.
Never obsessed over them.
So why the hell can’t I do the same with Claire?
I force myself to scroll past her name until I hit Joshua’s. This is safer. Better. More appropriate. I should reach out to him instead. Ask him if he’d like to get together for lunch. Remind myself who Claire is to him…
Who she’s supposed to be to me.
My fingers move over the keyboard as I type out a quick message, but before I can send it, the unmistakable sound of a door opening shatters the quiet.
And it’s not the front door.
It’s the back door.
The one Claire uses.
I don’t hesitate. I jump to my feet and head into the kitchen, coming to a stop when my eyes fall on her, her hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, cheeks pink from the winter chill.
She hasn’t stopped by on her lunch break since Joshua nearly walked in on us. We agreed it was better if we didn’t. But that doesn’t stop me from erasing the space between us and cupping her face in my hands.
“I was just thinking about you,” I say hoarsely, my mouth skimming hers.
Her lips curve into a flirtatious smile. “What were you thinking about?”
“How I need to stop thinking about you. But I can’t.” I crush my mouth to hers, drinking her in like a dying man desperate for water.
She melts against me, and for a heartbeat, I let myself have her. Havethis.
“Why do you need to stop thinking about me?”
Because the longer this goes on, the harder it will be to let her go
Because she deserves better.
Because I’m losing control.
Because of Joshua.
But I don’t say any of those things. Instead, I take the easy way out.
“I’m going back to D.C. soon. And whatever this is will be over.” My lips move against hers again, our tongues tangling in a dance they know so well at this point. But one I can’t seem to get enough of.
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be,” she says when I break away.
I still, darting my eyes toward her. I drop my hand, taking a small step back. “What did you say?”
She straightens her spine, lifting her chin like she’s bracing for impact. “I said maybe it doesn’t have to be over. Maybe it doesn’t have to end.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “Claire…”
“I know I said I didn’t want more. That I couldn’t have more with you, not with who we are to each other.”
“And that hasn’t changed,” I snap, sharper than I intended. “You’re still my son’s best friend. The girl he asked to marry him, for crying out loud. I shouldn’t have touched you in the first place. Not once I knew the truth. I shouldn’tstillbe touching you. But?—”
“But you can’t stop yourself. Because you feel this, too, don’t you? This connection.”
