Page 13 of Taken With You

“Jesus. I don’t know. I like you. I want you. And you want me. I can tell. Let’s do something about it.” I paused. “If you only want to be friends? Then I’ll do my best to keep things that way."

She snorted and shook her head. But she didn’t pull back. My fingers were still on her skin. Still gently caressing. Damn it, she was such a temptation. I needed to step away.

“Like I said. Ego much?”

“I like my big…ego.” I didn’t look down at my crotch when I said it, but she did.

A pretty blush stained her cheeks, and I grinned.

“Come out with me.”

“I shouldn’t. I can’t.”

“Shouldn’t and can’t are two very different things. Which one is it, baby?”

And then I lowered my head and fell into the abyss and my bad decisions. I kissed her again, a brush of lips, a sweet caress of sin.

My tongue snaked out, parting her lips, and she moaned. But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she put her hands on my chest, her fingernails digging into my flesh through my shirt.

And when I stepped back, her pupils were large, dark. Her throat worked as she swallowed hard.

“I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe not. But let’s try it out anyway.”

I really should not be doing this. Just like she shouldn’t. There was only one way this ended. Actually, there were two possibilities. Heartache or death. Or both.

But I didn’t care. So when she nodded, just a little movement, a way to say yes, something twisted inside me.

I didn’t want to hurt her, but I craved her. But I craved her.

I only hoped that with that “yes,” that one little nod, I hadn’t sealed our fates.

It had happened once already. At least once. For both of us.

I didn’t know if we could survive it again.

Chapter 4

I’m not perfectly imperfect. Just imperfect.

~Meadow, journal entry

Meadow

Women got asked out all the time. Men, too. Everybody did.

I was no different than anyone else. I’d succumbed and nodded yes to Beckham.

And that meant that tomorrow, on his day off, we were going on a date. I didn’t know what kind. It wasn’t like I had much experience with them. I sucked at the whole dating thing, actually. My dating usually included putting on tight jeans, high-heeled boots, a bra that pushed my boobs up to my chin, and then involved me sitting on the back of a bike before doing things I shouldn’t.

At least, old Meadow’s dates had been like that.

The new Meadow didn’t do that. She didn’t go out at all.

I hadn’t been on a date since Coby.

I shuddered at the name, wondering why I’d even thought it. I’d done my best not to think about him for over a year. It wouldn’t do to start now. Simply because I thought of my past for some reason every time I thought of Beckham didn’t mean that was the right trajectory.