“I need to pee,” I blurt out, then almost run into the decrepit bathroom. I flick the light switch and slam the door and stare into the mirror.
My hair is mussed where his fingers dug into the back of my skull—oh shit, that felt so good and I am insane to even let myself relive the sensation—and my lips are swollen and my pupils are so big my irises are almost nonexistent.
I look like I’ve been thoroughly fucked, yet it was just one stupid kiss.
One stupid kiss with someone who I’m not supposed to have these kinds of thoughts about.
He and I have known each other through puberty, through the tortures of school. All through boot camp and his deployment, we kept our friendship strong through text messages and email and random Skype calls at all hours of the day.
He’s my rock, the single constant in my life, the man no others have compared to. The one who has been there for me, and I’ve been there for him.
We’re not supposed to have this attraction toward each other. It could ruin everything. Imagine if we dated…broke up for some reason…and then the friendship I’ve relied on all of these years would be gone.
Evaporating over nothing more than some out of control hormones.
I grip the sink and draw in slow breaths. The bathroom light flickers above the mirror, like some kind of creepy prop in a horror film, but, strangely enough, I’m not feeling fear anymore. No, that emotion has been taken over by the rampant confusion and arousal intertwined in my chest.
I stare hard at my reflection. “Knock it off,” I tell myself in a quiet tone, so he doesn’t overhear me. This is probably just some weird, emotionally hyped reaction to being locked in the basement. I bet Freud would tell me I’ve transferred my fear into the only emotion guaranteed to distract me from my predicament—arousal. Not to mention all the work stress recently, plus my lack of dating, much less sex… It’s no wonder I reacted that way to a kiss.
We’ll get through the rest of this night, and tomorrow, when I’m back in my own space, I can think it all through. Figure out how to handle it. Cole is a gentleman—I know he won’t make me embarrassed about how turned on I got.
Even as I think that, I can remember the way his muscled shoulders bunched under my fingers. How his hands squeezed my flesh. His mouth opening, his tongue sliding along my lips. His warm breath pouring into mine.
That wasn’t a passive kiss on his part. That wasn’t all just me.
Cole felt something too.
The realization sinks into my bones.
Things have changed between us. Only question is, what’s going to happen now? Will we both pretend that moment didn’t happen? Will we talk about it? Am I really the world’s biggest chicken, because my first impulse is to stick my head in the sand and not think about it right now? Ugh.
I draw another deep breath and exit the scariest bathroom ever. Cole’s over by the canned food shelf, his pants back on, and the relief that hits me is hard. Thank God.
He turns, a can of mixed fruit in his hand, a casual smile on his face. “I found us a snack. I needed sugar.”
I nod and give a bigger grin than the situation probably warrants. “Me too. Divvy that up.”
He cracks the can open and splits the contents onto two small plates, then hands me one along with a fork. We resume our spot on the floor.
“Truth,” he says after shoveling a slice of peach into his mouth.
Oh. Right. The game. I swallow my bite and scramble to think of something to ask him that won’t bring us back to the topic of anything sexual. “Tell me…a little about your last tour.” He didn’t talk much about it, and I have to admit I’m curious about why he retired.
Cole stiffens, and a frown flashes on his face. There’s no sign of arousal anymore, probably for the best, though I feel bad for causing him angst. I’m about to tell him never mind when he answers. “It wasn’t good. I don’t really like to think about it. There was an attack and we lost several troops. A few of them buddies of mine.” He looks down at his plate and pokes the fruit with his fork. His voice is even, not giving away any emotion, but I can sense it costs something for him to play it so cool. “After that, I was done. I kept thinking about my family mourning if I came home in a box, and I couldn’t do that to them. Not after Mom.” The last words were quiet, but the emotion came through then.
Poor Cole. My heart squeezes, and I reach over and grip his hand. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “Over now.”
I wait until his eyes connect with mine. “I’m glad you’re back,” I tell him. “I missed you so much. You have no idea.” The words are among the most true I’ve ever spoken. Not having Cole in my life has been worse than I even realized.
But he’s back now. I’ll do everything I can to help him, to be there for him however he needs me.