Page 15 of Someone You Deserve

My hips start moving, rolling over his lap slowly, finding him hard beneath me.So very hard.

God, I want him inside of me.

I miss sex.

I’m tired of my hand and feeling so alone.

“Jesus, Astrid,” he mumbles against my lips, kissing me deeply again, over and over, stealing the breath from my lungs.

But then reality slams into me.

His voice brings me back to the reality of what it is we’re doing.

I’m kissing Penn—my dead husband’s best friend.

Oh my God. What am I doing?

“Shit,” I curse, launching myself from Penn’s lap and the couch, creating as much space between us as possible as I hold my fingers to my lips, where I can still feel his mouth on mine.

Penn’s eyes are wild and wide, staring up at me. “Astrid…”

“This was a mistake. I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I made the first move. I just…” He moves to stand, but I put my hand up to stop him.

“No. Don’t. I—I don’t know what we were thinking.”

“Well…” he starts, but I cut him off again.

“No. This can’t happen, Penn.”

A flicker of irritation crosses his face. “Okay…”

“This was a mistake,” I repeat.

“No, it wasn’t.” He stands now and makes his way over to me. I’m holding my breath, warring with myself over wanting to push him away or pull him close again and pick up where we left off.

But then I hiccup loudly, and my eyes dart to the bottle of tequila on the coffee table. “We’re drunk. That’s all this is.”

Blame it on the alcohol. Yes. There’s a reason Jamie Foxx coined that phrase and put it with music.

“I’m not that drunk, Astrid.” He stands right in front of me now so I have to crane my neck back to see his eyes.

“Well, I am. I’m sorry. Let’s just forget this ever happened.”

“What if I don’t want to?” he counters, making my breath hitch.

“I’m—I’m not ready, Penn.” It’s not a total lie, but honestly, the reality that I just kissed another man who wasn’t my husband is making me want to puke.

A man who is also his best friend and completely off limits.

“But…”

“No,” I interrupt. “This is wrong. On so many levels.” I turn away and head for the hall closet, pulling out a spare blanket and pillow. I return and toss them on the couch. “You should stay here tonight.”

His brows are drawn together fiercely, and his voice accepts no argument when he says, “Astrid, we need to talk about this.”

I shake my head, trembling all over. The nerves, the reality of what I’ve done, the shame and guilt and longing that’s racing through me—I need to be alone right now before I fall apart. “I can’t, Penn. I’m begging you, just…please pretend this never happened. Tomorrow, everything goes back to normal. I’m just emotional.” I shrug. “It’s the anniversary of Brandon’s death, and you’re here and you’re such a good friend, and I…”

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