Is Will naked, too?
His chest was bare, the covers pulled just over his stomach.
I gingerly lifted up the blanket, peered underneath. He was wearing pants.
I watched his chest rise and fall in the dark, a sliver of silvery moonlight catching the perfect edge of his profile. He was handsome this way—quiet, asleep—and his lips looked lush and perfect. My heartbeat sped up and my palms were clammy damp. I leaned over, drew a breath, and pressed my lips against his.
Without a word, without a single thought, I was kissing Will and he was kissing me; his arms snaked around my waist and he pulled me close to him. My breasts crushed against his chest as I kissed him harder, pushing every other impulse out of my mind. His fingers were looped in my hair, and mine were raking across his back as we spun, kicking back covers, pulling off clothes. I felt my blood coursing through my every vein, my every artery—every single part of my body was tingling, on high alert. For the first time I could really remember, I felt alive.
Will pulled into me, holding me close. I listened to our hearts pounding, felt his breath washing over me.
There were no scars on his back—no threat of leaving when he looked at me. His skin was supple, perfect.
He knew what I knew. He saw what I saw.
He looked down and kissed me once more, and I melted into him.
Sunlight streaked through the picture window and I stirred, an ache going through my entire body. I waited for ChaCha’s kibble breath, for her frenzied good-morning licks, but nothing happened. I cracked open one eye and then the other; I rolled over and took in the empty pillow.
Will.
I sat up and stared around the empty room; the unusual feeling of comfort and serenity crashing over me. I slid into one of Will’s shirts and padded into the kitchen, where Will stood shirtless, staring at an egg in a frying pan as if it were an alien baby.
“Good morning,” I said, trying hard to keep the sleep and sheepishness out of my voice.
“Good morning to you, love,” Will said, giving me a noncommittal kiss on the forehead. “Sleep okay?”
I nodded. “What’s that?”
Will frowned. “I was planning on making you breakfast in bed.”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost noon.”
“Well, there is that. Also”—he poked at the egg—“I don’t know how to make eggs.” Will tossed the pan—milky egg and all—into the sink. “How ’bout you stay around? I’ll make my famous call to Crepe Ape?”
“No, thank you. I should really get going.” I gathered my clothes under one arm and carried my shoes in the other. Will and I shared an uncomfortable silence.
Do I kiss him? Thank him? Wave good-bye?
“I gotta go,” I said, avoiding his gaze and slipping out the front door.
Smooth, I groaned.
And then I ran into Alex.
“Hey,” he said, steadying me.
“You’re back,” I said, startled, but otherwise unsure how I felt.
“Yeah. Got in about an hour ago. We’re done.” He grinned, but his brow was furrowed. “You’re sure in a hurry to get somewhere.” His words slowed down as he took me in—I was in a thigh-length football T-shirt, carrying my clothes, my red-hair halo undeniably screaming, “Morning after!” I saw him swallow hard, and all my early-morning comfort crashed away.
He’s not my boyfriend, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so damn guilty?
Alex looked down at his shoes and I shuffled my bare feet, thinking that if “Devil Dearest” cared for me at all, he’d choose this very moment to open up the mouth of Hell and call me home.
“I tried to call you, but it kept going straight to voice mail. I figured you had something going on.” Alex looked as though he was working not to see my T-shirt, not to look at my naked legs. “I’m heading out again in a couple of days. Back to Buffalo, just to finish things off. I just wanted to stop in to make sure you were all right.” The muscle jumped in Alex’s jaw as he swallowed hard. “But I guess you’re doing fine.”
I opened my mouth to say ... What?
“Um, thank you. I ... was just ...” I pointed to Will’s door. “We were just—”
Alex shook his head; a smile that was really not a smile at all on his lips. “That’s okay. You don’t have to say ... I just wanted to say good-bye.”
My chest started to feel tight; my heart rose in my throat. “Because of Buffalo, right? I mean, you’ll be back, right?”
Alex avoided my gaze. “Sure.” He reached out, his hand landing softly on my shoulder. He patted it; then gave an awkward squeeze. “I’m glad you’re okay.” He didn’t look at me when he said, “Good-bye, Sophie.”
He turned and walked away; and every fiber of my being told me to stop him, to shout, to say something—anything—that would pull the awkward discomfort out of this moment, for something that would make everything okay with Alex, with Will—with me.
“Alex,” I said to his back.