It’s just been about sex for me.
Nothing more, nothing less.
But with Erin, the pull is different. And all I want to do is explore that.
Those few moments with Erin at Hendrick’s Bar, and the silent car ride back to her place when it was just the two of us, felt peaceful. I wish we could have kept driving.
When I got home and crawled into bed, thinking of her smile, gentle features, and overall presence, I found myself wanting more of those little moments with her.
Even the ones where she said nothing at all.
I walk up her quiet street, take in the different houses, climb the two steps leading up to her front door, and knock. The sound of footsteps echoes behind the door and then it swings open.
Fuck. Me.
She’s radiant.
“Good morning, Bookworm,” I say, my voice raspier than I intended. I hold the coffee cup out to her.
She glances down at my hand and reaches out to take the cup.
Our fingers brush, and my pulse skips a beat.
It’s a simple touch, but I’m left buzzing.
She presses her lips together, a look of softness crossing her features, and I can’t help but feel I’ve won some small victory just by being here.
“Hello,” she says, taking a sip. Her eyes close, and she does a little shimmy. I spot the gentle curve of her lips, slightly upward, almost as if she’s holding back a quiet happiness.
She opens her eyes. “I love pistachio lattes. Thank you.”
Thank you. Bella.
“What are you doing here?” she asks as she goes back for another sip, leaving a small pink stain behind on the white lid. It must be a lip balm of some kind because she’s makeup-free—and now I’m dying to know the flavor of her lips and how they taste.
“I thought we could hang out today,” I say, testing the boundaries.
When Erin’s eyes widen and her sun-kissed skin pales, I pivot.
“Brodie coaches his nephew’s Little League team on Saturdays. They have a game in a few hours. The keys he needs are in Bella’s bag, which I gave to you last night. I was asked to come get them,” I explain.
“Oh, right,” she says, but she doesn’t move to get them. Instead, she just stares at me, holding her coffee cup. “That makes sense,” she adds.
“I can wait out here if that’s more comfortable.”
“No, I’m sorry. Umm, come in,” she says as she moves aside.
I step inside, taking in the interior. Her place is cute and cozy, and somehow, it’s exactly what I expected. Built-in bookshelves border the back wall, and a tiny TV sits on a coffee table that’s tucked into the corner of the room. The gray sofa islittered with cushions and blankets, and she has an open kitchen plan.
A picture on her bookshelf catches my attention, and I walk over to it, taking in the four faces squished together in what appears to be a courtroom.
When she walks up next to me, I turn to her. She stretches out her hand to place the keys in my palm.
I notice the hesitancy on her face as we stand in silence. She not-so-subtly looks over at her front door as if she’s either trying to plan her escape or hint that she wants me to leave.
The oven starts going off, and she surprises me when she says, “Do you like pretzels and cheese sauce?” She leaves my side, walking into the kitchen without waiting for me to respond.
“Pretzels and cheese sauce? Bold breakfast choice.” I smirk, following her into the kitchen.
