I’m lost in it. Drunk on it—on him—and that realization is the thing that finally brings me back to my senses.
“Miles, I—” I pull back, my forehead pressing into his, hands on his chest as my gaze falls to the floor.
“Oh man, Claire, I’m so sorry—” He takes a step back, pushing the stool out of the way. “I crossed a line. I—” He drags a hand down his chin.
I shake my head. “No, it’s—” I close my eyes, battling the ridiculous desire to do that again and the commonsensical realization that I absolutely cannot.
Only...
“You don’t do relationships,” I say, a reminder to myself more than anything. “That hasn’t changed, right?”
He exhales and gives his head a quick shake. “No, it hasn’t.”
“Okay,” I say. “That’s good to know. Important to know.” I smile, but I want to hide. I move away from the counter, away from him. I need air. And space. And distance.
“I screwed this up,” he says.
“No, not at all,” I lie. Because how do we go back to the way things were after this? Am I supposed to pretend it meant nothing to me when it meant everything?
“It’s fine,” I say. “Just a moment that... got out of... you know, a blip that sort of...” But it’s not fine. And this is obvious by my very visible spiral.
“I really like you, Claire,” he says. “You’re funny and smart and you have no idea how gorgeous you are. I don’t know anyone else like you, and—” He turns away, making an embarrassed noise. “I made it all weird.”
“No,” I say, still lying. “It’s fine. I mean, seriously. It’s not a big deal.” I’m moving around the space as I say this, grabbing my bag, stumbling to put my shoes back on. “I’m going to go.”
“No, please don’t—” He moves toward me, and I hold up a hand to stop him.
“I have to go,” I say, hoping he understands that him kissing me like that—like he wants me more than air—is not something I’ll easily recover from.
That kiss came with feelings. Mine—not his. The kind that I’ve been actively burying because I know that he and I can never, ever work.
Because Miles doesn’t do relationships. And I don’t do casual.
We want very different things.
I walk to the door, but before I open it, I turn back and lookat him, terrified that this night will mark the end of what we have—a complicated but beautiful friendship.
I frown.
He frowns.
“I don’t want to stop being friends with you,” I say.
“Good.” I hear the relief in his voice. “I don’t want to stop being friends with you either.”
“But that can’t happen again,” I say. “I’m not... It’s a... My heart isn’t strong enough.”
He nods. “Understood.”
I smile. It almost feels real. “See you tomorrow?”
He keeps nodding. “Definitely.”
My gaze dips from those icy-blue eyes to his full, kissable lips, and the charged air between us sparks.
“I don’t do friends with benefits,” I say, but my voice is weak. Because for a fraction of a second, I sort of wish I did.
“Good to know.” He laughs lightly. “For the record, I didn’t think you did. I just—” He pushes a hand through his hair, leaving it messy and disheveled and... sexy. “Lost myself for a minute. I promise it won’t happen again.”
