Page 73 of Stealing Sunshine

“No.”

“Then what is the reason?”

“It was Kristen, right?” she asks stiffly.

“Yes. She’s my best friend.”

Bryce hums, shifting her gaze away from me. I inch forward in my chair and lay my palms flat on the small table. She’s not that far from me, but I can’t reach for hands that aren’t available for me, even if I want to take hers and squeeze until she opens up to me.

“Is it not okay if I invite people over? In that case, all you have to do is tell me that. I wouldn’t want you to punch a hole through my door next time.”

I’m already starting to smile when she looks at me again. The ice in her eyes is sharp, though not cutting, and I take that as a good sign.

She scratches her cheek and pulls her hair over her shoulder. It’s loose this morning, even a bit messy as some thin strands stick up near her scalp. It’s like she rolled out of bed and came right to the kitchen this morning, not expecting that I’d be awake as well.

“You can have people over. I just don’t want to look like a fool if you have something going on with another woman,” she says, the words brittle.

“Something going on with who? Kristen? You think me and Kristen are together?” I sputter.

Tension grows in her expression. “Should I think differently? I came home late at night and learned there was another woman in your room while the door was shut.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended that you think I’d offer to enter into a fake relationship with you while already being in a real one or curious as to why you didn’t just barge into my room to see for yourself.”

“I’m not the barging type.”

“Just the banging type, then?”

The innocent question drops to the tabletop like a boulder. An awkward giggle bubbles from my lips, and Bryce’s attention zeroes in on my mouth. It’s impossible not to watch hers right back, mesmerized by the way they part around laboured breaths.

Now . . . despite my lack of love life as of recently, I haven’t exactly forgotten what sexual tension feels like. It’s one of those things that becomes ingrained into the core of your memory. A sensation that may feel distant and foreign at times but is quick to flip into recognition during moments like these, where you consider pouncing at someone like a wild beast.

At least, that’s what I think.

I can only speak for myself with absolute certainty, but from the tightening of my lungs and the moisture soaking into my panties as I stare at Bryce’s mouth, there’s no doubt I’m feeling a startling attraction to her.

My fake girlfriend.

This isn’t the first time either. Far from it after what I witnessed the other night and the way my body responded to it. I didn’t sleep at all and went to work with heavy bags beneath my eyes and an irritability that I put all my focus into not showing in front of a classroom of children.

For some reason, I think this is the strongest wave of attraction I’ve fallen prey to. From the sheer effort it’s taking to keep my breaths steady so my lungs don’t shrivel up and the subtle press of my thighs together beneath the edge of the table, it’s safe to say I’m in dangerous territory. It’s worse than the other night, and I’m hopeless to thinking of why that is right now.

Bryce doesn’t appear as affected as I am. If it weren’t for the streaks of red climbing her neck and the strain of her jaw, I would have thought she was simply staring at me.

Her ability to keep a straight face doesn’t seem to matter right now. It’s silly, but I take that as a compliment. Like I’m an exception to her usual façade.

“I don’t refuse anyone when they ask for a tattoo,” shereveals, slowly slipping her eyes up my face. “They ask, and I take my shit and go where they want me whenever they want me.”

“Are they taking advantage of you, then?”

Her brows knit together. “No.”

“So, you’re okay with being out all night every night going house to house? You don’t get tired of getting home late or missing conversations with those around you?” I ramble, my buried irritability seeping through.

“Are you upset with me because I’m gone late, Daisy?”

I avoid eye contact, suddenly feeling small beneath the fierceness of her stare. “No. I just need to know if I should stop leaving the lights on once I’ve gone to bed.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll be home earlier from now on.”

---