Page 19 of It's Complicated

The only two people who knew just how weird things got were me and Isaac. I’d had a week to get over it, but I couldn’t.

Things had gone back to normal pretty fast, but I couldn’t be sure if that was because we were both trying so hard to pretend like everything was fine or if that was just me and Isaac really was fine while I felt like my world was falling apart.

“Just a little more,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that hit me straight in the gut.

Why did that tone affect me so much? And why the hell did I have butterflies in my stomach from it?

I held still so he wouldn’t accidentally stab me with the scissors, memories of the kiss playing through my mind on a loop, even as I tried like hell to think about something—anything—else.

I had no idea how it happened. I’d had my eyes closed, mostly from the relief of being able to pull in a full breath again but also because I’d needed a second to compose myself and tell my nervous system to stop getting excited that Isaac was touching me.

I’d leaned in, and while I hadn’t been thinking about kissing him, the actual kiss hadn’t surprised me or freaked me out nearly as much as it should have.

My first thought hadn’t beenHoly shit, I’m kissing my best friend. It had been more likeI’m kissing my best friend?

The contact was brief, more like we’d bumped lips than an actual kiss, but it was enough to send a shiver of awareness through me, and under the shock was excitement.

Had I unconsciously kissed him? Had he kissed me? Or had it been an accident because of the small space we’d been crammed into?

Still not sure what was going on in my head, I traced my gaze over Isaac’s face while he was busy focusing on what he was doing.

He had his thinking face on, the one where he poked the tip of his tongue between his lips. That was the face he made when he was deep in concentration.

Isaac was hot. You didn’t have to be into guys to think so. His dark hair was thick and soft, framing his face in the same style as mine, with the sides cut short and the top longer. His eyes were one of his best features because of how intense they could be, and he had an incredible smile.

He also radiated confidence and could command a room without trying. He was fun to be around and didn’t take things too seriously.

It was kind of funny that people sometimes thought we were brothers or other close relatives because of how similar we looked. We were almost the same size, only Z’s arms were bigger because he worked a manual job and I stood behind a desk all day. His hair was dark brown, and mine was a few shades lighter. His eyes were dark blue, while mine were light blue, and his features were sharper and more refined since I’d never fully lost the fullness in my cheeks that gave me a bit of a baby face.

His body was incredible, chiseled and perfect, even after a month of not hitting the gym regularly. I was already getting soft around the middle thanks to my sedentary job, while he could still put most fitness influencers to shame.

While it was true he was gorgeous and fit, it was his ability to flip between happy-go-lucky fun guy and smolder-until-your-undies-melt hottie that drew people to him. He knew how to use his looks to his advantage, but he wasn’t arrogant or an ass about it.

My gaze was drawn to his hands as he gently tugged the neckline of the bet shirt away from my skin to cut through it.

He had nice hands with wide palms and long, thick fingers. He didn’t have a lot of body hair, even with his darker coloring, and the fine spattering on his arms was strangely interesting.

I knew exactly how strong his hands were and how rough the calluses on them could feel, but right then, his touch was whisper soft and so gentle it was messing with me.

Tearing my eyes from his hands, I stared over his shoulder, picking a random spot on the wall and memorizing everything about it so I wouldn’t keep thinking about his hands or his touch.

“There.” He let out a heavy-sounding sigh as he cut through the neckline. The shirt snapped back around my armpits now that the tension was gone. “Better?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I also resisted the urge to pull in another deep breath because of what happened last time and instead flexed my shoulders and back to stretch out my chest.

He cleared his throat and dropped his gaze to my left arm.

“I’ll just…” He motioned to the sleeve with the scissors.

They were much easier to cut since the thin strips were in a wide checker pattern, like fishnet stockings.

I held still as he snipped through first the left sleeve, then the right, going all the way up over the shoulder so the shirt fell off me and fluttered to the floor.

My breath caught as he gently traced the tip of one finger over one of the many red marks imprinted on my skin.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice as soft as his touch.

“It’s fine,” I rasped, unable to say more.

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