My stomach hurts, that queasy feeling back again in full force.
He sighs and shifts his shoulder against the wall until his torso is leaning in my direction. His dimple is nowhere in sight now. His stare as direct as a laser. And then, his voice is only a whisper that somehow fills up this whole room, this whole apartment, my whole heart.
“I want to kiss you.”
He lifts his fingers to rub my lips with three fingertips.
“I want to kiss you. I look at you, with those curves of yours and that wild hair and those dark eyes and that reluctant little smile, and I want to crush you against me, fill my hands with your hair and drown in your smell. And I want to kiss you.”
His eyes darken.
“I want to take off your lipstick so all you have is my mouth on you. Fuck Davis. Fuck everything but kissing you.”
He exhales roughly, his nostrils flaring as he lowers his fingers.
He lowers his fingers…and my lips tingle and burn and they want to part open and my tongue wants to lick him and I want him so much, I want every bit of what he described and more.
My throat can barely get out any words.
I stare at my feet and watch my toe somehow rub against the length of his shoe. “But then what? You strip my lips of everything but your mouth on mine, and then you’re gone and I have nothing. At least right now we have friendship. And it means more to me than you will ever know, Tahoe. It means so much to me. You mean so much to me.”
He shifts his shoe until all of my toes are resting on it now. “You mean as much to me too.”
“So then.” I scoff at our conversation and wave a hand dismissively. “I’ll give you a peck on New Year’s. If you happen to be around.” I smirk.
He doesn’t smirk.
“I think I’ll take it right now.” He leans over and pecks me.
Just a peck.
On the lips.
His lips pressing on mine for just a nanosecond while my lips instinctively press back. And his lips are warm and strong and HIS. And my world tilts and everything becomes nothing, and nothing but a peck becomes everything.
Everything.
A fiery warmth oozes from the contact of our bodies. He eases back, his gaze piercing the mere few inches between us. His lips curve lightly, and though the smile touches his eyes, I can tell that his hunger was only stoked.
Just like mine…
“You available this Friday? I need a plus one.”
I clear my throat and nod. I’m still so dazed and disbelieving he just did that, but I’m happy to be back on casual terms, happy to pretend his lips weren’t hot and a little possessive on mine. “Done. What do I wear?”
I don’t tell him that Friday is my birthday because I haven’t yet made plans, and a plan with him is better than any, really.
He glances at the mess of boxes thoughtfully then digs his hand into the closest one. “This.”
He grins and extracts the first thing that comes out: an apron.
“Haha.” I shove it back inside.
He laughs darkly, and I laugh too, and he says, “It’s a day event, wear whatever you’d like.”
“Okay. Pajamas,” I joke.
“I’m game.” He grins devilishly.
We share a long, charged look, then I set my cheek on his shoulder and it feels so right to just sit here in my apartment with him. “Thanks for hooking me up with your friend.”
“Anything for you, Regina.”
His usual teasing tone is absent from his voice. He sounds somber, certain, honest. We sit there, admiring my new place, until his phone starts buzzing between us. After a while, he curses in exasperation and pulls it out, checks the screen, and I see the number 18 on his text-alert icon.
“Wow. Spurning some invitations somewhere?” I narrow my eyes in bemusement. “They really want you there.”
He tucks it back into his pocket. “Yeah. Not interested.”
*
I’m distracted Thursday night as I have dinner with Trent at Carnivale. He asked if I was available on the evening of my birthday. I’m exhausted after moving and unpacking, but he’s been trying so hard that I couldn’t deny him the night before.
He’s trying his best to make me laugh, but I almost feel like I’m forcing it. I don’t understand my mood. I remind myself about the letter at the bottom of the lake that Tahoe and I burned so long ago, knowing that Paul is fish food now. He can’t hurt me now. But I can’t shake off the restlessness I feel. Why I can’t connect with Trent the way I do with…well, HIM.
At the end of dinner, Trent gives me a big box and tells me I can open it in my apartment. I’m hesitant to invite him over, but I also don’t want to be rude when he’s clearly trying so hard to make my day special. I tell him he can come up for ten minutes while I open my gift. We sit in my living room and he watches me open the box that reads MAC.
“It’s all the makeup you could want for the year,” he says. “So you can always look like a queen.”
I love MAC.
I love makeup.