Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
“You still haven’t watched Youngblood.”
“Only for your birthday.”
I’m lying. I’d watch anything he told me to if it meant tonight wasn’t over. I want things to go back to how they were before we kissed, and hanging out like this is the only way. That’s the lie I tell myself as we head back to my apartment. We’re going back to normal. We’re not going to hook up. I’m definitely not going to act on the confusing feelings I’ve been having about him.
I’m not.
I throw my coat on the tiny circular dining table at the entry, and Whit does the same. My keys jingle as I place them on the hook near the door, the single sound echoing through the small apartment.
Whit stands a few feet away from me, refusing to even look in my direction. No, his gaze is laser focused on the futon where we kissed.
“Drink?” I ask.
“Whiskey,” he says quickly.
I cock my eyebrow, and he glances away.
Whiskey, it is.
There’s no doubt in my mind he’s picking up the same nervous energy I am, and I can’t tell if it’s coming from him or me.
Can he read my mind and see the millions of different scenarios I’ve got going on up there?
Whit seems intent on staying at least six feet away from me. Every time our eyes meet, he immediately glances away. What the hell are we doing?
I move toward my kitchen and pull down the whiskey. I pour some in a glass and throw it back and then pour some for him to do the same.
He takes the glass, and for the first time tonight, he doesn’t look away when our eyes lock. As he drinks the honey-colored liquid, he watches me.
Then he swallows hard and puts the glass down between us.
“More?” My voice is unintentionally raspy.
“I better not. Last time I drank too much, I apparently thought it was a great idea to attach my face to … well, your face.”
My lips quirk. “It is an amazing face.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, I meant mine.”
Whit gives me a playful shove.
I step toward him so I don’t lose balance, but now we’re so close I’m just a breath away. Our chests have only an inch of separation between them.
Whit’s playfulness fades.
My throat dries.
The urge to wrap my arm around his back and pull him against me is almost overpowering. I don’t know if I’ll be able to contain it if he doesn’t move away soon.
As if he knows what I’m thinking, he steps back. “Movie.”
His lips are slightly parted, and I wonder what it would be like to move my tongue over them. For once, I don’t try to shake the thought. I don’t want to this time.
“Rainn?”
I blink out of my stupor. “Huh?”
“Movie?” Whit gestures to the couch.
The couch where mistakes happen.
Maybe I can make another mistake.
“Right. Movie. I just …” I glance at the whiskey. “More alcohol.”
Whit steps far enough away to take a seat, and I can finally breathe, but that doesn’t stop me from downing another shot. It makes my insides warm and dims the buzzing in my veins.
Whit’s sitting on his usual side of my couch, his legs spread wide while he flicks the TV on with the remote. He seems focused on the screen, but as I get closer, I notice those eyes on me. Watching me.
I have the urge to stand between his legs to see how he’d respond. Would he run his hands up the back of my thighs?
Would he pull me down on top of him?
Jesus H. Christ, get a grip, Rainn.
I take my seat next to him, maybe a little closer than normal. Apparently, I can’t help myself anymore.
The menu for my streaming service is on the screen, but the selection isn’t moving.
I turn my head to find Whit staring at the screen blankly.
“We watching Youngblood or—”
Whit suddenly stands. “This isn’t going to work.”
“What’s not?” I stay where I am, worried if I make the wrong move, he’ll leave faster than I can come up with a way to stop him.
“I think you know,” Whit says. “I can’t … We can’t go back to normal after that kiss. At least, not yet. I need time.”
No. That’s the last thing I want.
I stand too, but slowly, so I don’t make him run for the door. “What if we don’t go back to normal?”
“What does that even mean?”
I’d like to know too.
My hand trembles, wanting to reach for him. “What if …”
What if I kiss you again?
The words refuse to leave my lips, so instead, I step toward him.
“What if we forget about labels for a second? All labels.”
He looks confused. “Okay …”
“You’re a person and I’m a person.”
“Can we be penguins instead?”
“No.”
“But you said—”
“We’re not fucking penguins.”
“Well, that’s good. I don’t think you’d be let into SeaWorld ever again if you fucked a penguin.”