Page 25 of Silent Is The Heart

Throat thick, mouth dry, pulse skittering erratically, I am reintroduced to that forgotten phenomenon. It hits me with the force of a frigid burst of winter wind, blasting you when you first leave the warmth of your home. I’ve drunk more than one drink and two shots in my life without getting light-headed. The way my knees threaten to buckle when Easton’s stubble brushes against the side of my neck and I feel his hot breath ghost my skin has nothing to do with alcohol consumption. I can’t breathe, but it’s not the suffocating kind of shortness of breath. It’s the top of a roller coaster kind of gasping, the knowledge that something exhilarating comes next.

Andthat… is when I do stop breathing.

It’s a panic attack like none of the others. This isn’t what I came here for. I’m not supposed to be… turned on. I… I’m grieving. Or should be.

If I’m being honest, all I’ve been doing is feeling sorry for myself and trying to understand all the riddles left behind by Jason’s death. That bit of truth only makes it worse. I should be feeling more sorrow over losing him rather than concern over what bills he racked up will find their way to me next. I did grieve at first, but then it turned into an unsolvable mystery that left me practically homeless. And what am I doing? Getting aroused by a guy who I told I wanted to be friends with.

I’m about to turn around and make polite apologies and excuses to Easton when I feel his arms close around the front of my waist. That should not feel so good that it quells my panic. I saidfriends. I never had any intention of thinking of him as anything other than a friend. I’m not only letting Jasondown but Easton, too. Why did I think I was figuring anything out? I’m still as big a mess as I was last week.

Gripping his hand, I start to pull away but freeze at the feel of a soft lip at the shell of my ear. It drags slowly upward, teasing. My God, he’s…is he coming on to me?

I’m freaking frozen like a pheromone-induced baby gay who just got a whiff of his first all men’s rave. When I feel Easton’s cheek brush against mine, his lips mere inches away from my own, the panic returns in full force. He… wants to kiss me. It would be the first time I kissed someone other than my husband in eight years. Damn me to hell for being excited about it.

“I…I need some air,” I blurt, pulling away.

I don’t even look back, barreling through the crowd with the urgency of needing to get out of a mosquito-riddled jungle. The glow of anEXITsign above a side door near the bar is a beacon to my starved lungs. The thumping music and throng of the club are muffled background noises to the pounding of my heartbeat in my head as I push through the door and out into the alley.

Staggering, I feel the coarse texture of the brick wall and gulp in the cool night air. I am such a fool, a fucked up, emotional fool. What will that poor kid ever think of me now, watching me race out of there? The friend proposition is surely blown out the window. Kid—what a joke. He’s not a kid. He’s a man who has a better handle on himself than I ever did. He can tell people to fuck off when they piss him off. Every time Jason’s mother calls, I shrink like a caterpillar.

He probably didn’t even want to kiss me. He was just dancing, dirty dancing like everyone else here was, like everyone does to this kind of music.

He hates you, remember?

Sagging against the wall, I lean my head back and pinch my eyes closed. A sour laugh bubbles from my throat. I guess I had one sliver of dignity left, but I’ve successfully stomped on that tonight. This was me, all me. Maybe getting horny is some latent phase of grief that hits a year and a half after the loss of someone. People told me I might find someone else. I used to get mad about it. I have no desire to find love ever again. I’m not so ignorant to understand that there is a possibility I could kiss someone again someday. It could happen. Maybe ten years from now, when I’m not a dumpster fire, but not likethis. Not like an inferno that creeps up on me the first time I go out to a crowded public place with a guy who, for all intents and purposes, I barely know.

“Holy shit, Aaron,” I curse under my breath, pressing the heels of my palms to my eyes.

The door hinges creak, flooding the alley with the end of the sex-riddled song that broke my brain moments ago. Out walks that beautiful face, no longer behind me, no longer unavoidable.

My pep talk and momentary freak out prove as weak as I am because even though my guilt and sense of diligence tell me to book it to my car, I look directly at his mouth. The mouth I still want to kiss.

CHAPTER 13

Easton

Well, that was easier than I thought. Someone was about to melt into a puddle in my arms before his conscience hit him. And looky what we have here… still lingering outside. I’ve played cat and mouse before. Can’t say it’s my favorite game. Or rather, I’m usually the mouse, but whatever works. I don’t do infidelity—one, because I’m single. And two, coupled-up guys aren’t my thing. They come with problems, and other people’s problems can stay their own problems. Sauntering over to Aaron, I remind myself of that now. It takes two to tango. This is a search-and-destroy mission that can only be initiated by two willing parties. I’m destroying Aaron Manicki from my system tonight, and he made it clear he was more than willing with that labored breathing he was doing on the dance floor and the sex haze that came over his eyes.

Everything all right?I ask.

“Yeah,” he lets out on a breathy laugh. “Sorry, I haven’t been out to a crowded place like this in a long time. I just…needed some air.”

Mouse—one. Cat up to bat.

Sidling up to him, slowly for effect, I eye his jugular, pulsing as he watches my movements and wets his lips. I shouldn’t be enjoying this so much. I know I dreamt of it a hundred timesover, but it’s different now. It’s not a fantasy—it’s a means to an end. It’s just therapy. An antidote to cure the incurable disease I’ve lived with for eight years.

Planting my feet on either side of his, my pulse kicks at the way his throat undulates when he swallows. His gaze flits all over my face and up and down my body. Fuck it. Sex is sex, even if it’s an anger bang. Why shouldn’t I enjoy an antidote if it’s going to set me free?

Cupping the side of his face, my breath practically stutters to a halt. That’s the smitten, less-experienced teen in me talking, though, so I remind him he doesn’t exist anymore. Aaron and I are equals now. Man versus man. Horny man versus horny man. Catetmouse.

He didn’t want to kiss seventeen-year-old me. He wanted the guy in the club. The one who worked him over on the dance floor like aFruit Roll-upsuntil he melded against my body like a layer of cake icing. I’ll give him exactly what he wants. Just once. I’ll just give it to him so good he wants it more than once and then I’ll walk the fuck away like he did eight years ago.

Mouth agape, he seems to be floundering for words. Likely more juggling of that pretty conscience he thinks he has. People who think they have consciences are so fucking predictable it’s a joke. Not me. I don’t do on-the-fence off-the-fence. If I want something, I kick the fucking fence down and go after it without apologies. Life is too short to care about consequences and morals.

Leaning my forehead against his, I tell myself the gentle, patient gesture is because he’s still clinging to that sweet persona of his, the one that fooled me years ago. I bet he moans his head off in bed when all the lights are out.

I brush my nose against his, delighting way too much in the way he shudders under the touch of my hand and grips the sleeve of my shirt, whispering my name like it’s a plea, “Easton, I…”

I want him so badly I’m freaking vibrating, and yet some part of me is scared shitless, like I’m coming on to a teacher who will report me and shoot me down. Not now, though. Not now. That was then.

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