Page 18 of A Little Bit Extra

“Please,” she replies, throwing her head back on the couch with an exhausted sigh.

I make a pot of coffee, clicking the ‘bold’ button to brew it extra strong. I don’t remember what time it was when we eventually fell asleep, but it was late.

“How do you take your coffee?” I look over my shoulder to ask her.

“Black is fine,” she answers.

This morning I’m immensely grateful for a coffee machine that only takes a few minutes to make a half pot. I walk back with a cup in either hand. She takes one from me and brings the mug to her nose and inhales deeply. With her eyes closed, a small smile plays upon her lips.

“How do you take yours?” She opens her eyes to look at me.

“Black with two sugars,” I reply, sitting back in the same spot on the couch.

“Hm. I’ll have to try that next time we hang out,” she says and immediately looks at me. “I mean…”

“Next time.” I smile and bring my mug up to my lips to take a sip.

She nods.

We take a few moments to sit in the silence. I enjoy having her here. It’s similar to when we were alone in the trailer and last night, but this feels sacred. No one knows she’s here. It’s a secret between the two of us.

“I want to see you again.” Cassie looks up at me. “Alone, preferably,” she adds.

“I’m sure we could arrange that.”

She’s got a smug look on her face, and I want to wipe it off with my lips.

Cassie’s phone buzzes. She groans, sets the coffee on the table in front of us, and starts typing furiously. After she sends the message, she sighs and leans back.

Her head rolls back to the right to look at me. “My roommate, Lucy, she, uh, knows I was here last night and sent me a text to make sure we were… safe.” She bites her lower lip, but doesn’t look away.

I laugh, which earns me a glare and a light punch in the arm.

“I should probably go, though. We have to be at work in a little while,” she says.

“Maybe you could come back over tonight?” I ask, knowing it’s a long shot. After hesitating to invite her over yesterday, I don’t know if asking her to come back tonight is too soon. What I do know is I don’t want to go to work. The thought of staying here and holding her close, maybe with her on my lap, is much more enticing. I want to trace every curve of her body with more than just my fingertips, feel the warmth beneath my touch. I want to hear the little noises she makes when I find the spots that give her pleasure.

I want her to want me.

I have never wanted someone like this. It’s baffling to be obsessed with someone’s thoughts and opinions shortly after meeting them, but that’s how I feel. It’s quite terrifying, actually.

Cassie stands up from the couch and offers me her hand, which I accept. She pulls me up, and I find myself mere inches away from her. I’m not sure what she wants me to do. I want nothing more than to press my lips against hers and find out if our kiss is as electrifying as I’m predicting it will be.

She surprises me by taking a step forward toward me. She wraps her arms around my waist and pulls me into a hug. I take a deep breath and realize that it’s been a long time since I’ve hugged someone. Genuinely hugged someone. Not a side hug or a quick goodbye hug to my mom. Hugging Cassie feels like I’ve taken a blanket fresh from the dryer and wrapped it around myself, losing myself to the warmth.

She lets go of me, and naturally I do the same. She still hasn’t answered my question and I’ve yet to speak. My patience is hanging on by a thread. I’m aching to know what she’s going to say. I realize that makes me sound like a teenage boy that just found out girls don’t actually have cooties.

Cassie walks over to the front door, slips on her sandals, and grabs her bag. She turns around to face me and that’s when I realize a light pink has crept onto her cheeks and she’s staring at me with soft eyes. “What time?” she asks.

“What time?” I’m entranced by her staring at me. I somehow forgot what we were discussing. Her touch has a way of drawing my attention away from everything else, and I find myself missing it.

Cassie places a hand on her hip and rolls her eyes. “You’re going to have to keep up with me, Hotshot.”

The way she calls me ‘Hotshot’ fuels the fire in my gut. The nickname is a tribute to a past role of mine, and the way she says it makes me want to slam her against the door and claim her as mine.

“6 p.m. Don’t be late,” I respond.

“Or else?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

---