Page 51 of Flirting with 40

You.

You happened.

You with your dreamy smile and kind eyes and irresistibility.

You with the stupid way you make me feel—pretty, funny, wanted, heard.

“Because it’s going to be a long night if you aren’t going to tell me what’s going on.”

I’m itching for a fight because I’m nervous and because I want him. I spent the last twenty years with the same man, and what if I forgot how to do this? How to do it.

“It’s fine. Everything is fine. We should just go to sleep because I’ve had enough to drink and the bed is calling my name.”

“Okay,” he says as I step past him, trying to keep as much distance between us as I can while I squeeze through the doorway. And, of course, I stop in my tracks now that I’m reminded how very small this space we’re sharing is. “I can sleep . . . um, on the porch if you’re uncomfortable with this.”

I look at him over my shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Torture. Absolute torture.

“Okay then,” he murmurs, holding my gaze, his own asking me what’s going on.

Before he can look too closely, before he can see the nerves I suddenly have despite the wine, I look away.

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” he asks.

“Sure. Fine. I’ll change while you’re out there.” I motion in the direction of the communal shower.

He flicks the lights on and moves behind me toward his bag. The sound of its zipper, the pad of his feet, the distinct sounds of flip-flops as he walks out the door again with a towel hanging from his neck and his clothes under his arm.

I change into my tank top and pajama bottoms and take the time alone to wash my face, all the while refusing to admit that I’m purposely trying to pick a fight with him.

But I am because it would make falling asleep in this tiny bed a little easier. I’ll be able to focus on my anger rather than making a fool out of myself for wanting him to kiss me.

Who am I kidding? I want him to do so much more than just kiss me.

I’m pulling my clothes out for tomorrow when the door opens and he walks across the room behind me. The scent of his soap hits my nose, and I know I need to apologize.

It isn’t his fault I want him.

“Look. I’m sorry.” I turn to find him standing a few feet from me, his hips leaning against the dresser, and completely shirtless.

Lord have mercy.

“For what?”

I chuckle because he’s just being nice by saying that. “For trying to pick a fight with you.”

“Want to tell me why?”

I open my mouth to give some bullshit excuse, but nothing comes out. “Because I’m trying to figure out how to howl at the moon, but I’m petrified to take the next step that allows me to do that.”

Silence blankets the close quarters as he takes a step toward me. “Sometimes, you just have to jump off the diving board without testing how the water is first.”

“Prisha told me you’re this nice to everyone and I shouldn’t read into anything.”

“Did she now?” He takes another step toward me, the water from his still wet hair running down his bare chest in a rivulet that I can’t seem to look away from. “I knew there was more than what you let on the other night. Remind me to tell her she should mind her own business. She can be a little overprotective and a lot like a big sister.”

I take in a shaky breath when he reaches out and brushes a lock of hair off my shoulder. “So, you aren’t this nice to everyone?” My voice is barely audible, and thank god for that since I’m sure my nerves are vibrating in it.