Page 47 of One Pucking Destiny

He holds me tighter. “This is friend snuggle time.”

I chuckle. “There is no such thing as friend snuggle time.” I turn around beneath his arm so I’m facing him. His big blue eyes hold my gaze. Even half asleep, he’s the most beautiful man.

“I had fun last night,” I admit.

“Yeah, me too.”

“Does your tattoo hurt?”

He looks momentarily confused as if he had forgotten all about it. “Oh… you should check it out. Make sure it’s looking good.”

I press my palm against his chest. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Yeah, I don’t even feel it.”

“I gotta go,” I say.

“Fine, but you need to pay the toll first.”

“And what’s that?”

He lifts his arm from my waist and moves his hand to his mouth, his pointer finger tapping his lips.

I push against his chest. “Bash,” I whine. “We agreed to be friends.”

“Friends kiss.”

“No. They don’t.” I chuckle.

“They could.” He shrugs.

I stare into his beautiful blues, and my chest hurts with the adoration I find in their depths. “I thought you were fine just being friends.”

He runs his finger over my lips, the gesture sending shivers down my spine. “I was, at that moment. I don’t know what it is about you, but I think I’m obsessed. I convince myself I don’t want you, but it’s really hard to lie to oneself. You know? I’m like this emotional yo-yo. Just when I think I’ve pulled away from you, I hurl myself right back.”

I shake my head. “I’ll only hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Believe me. I will. You know I’m stubborn as hell…”

“Yeah, I know.” He flashes me a barely-there smile that has me second-guessing everything, but only for a moment.

“Well, I have plans, and they come before anything else, including you. You may have been the right guy on another timeline, but it’s not the right time.”

“Fine.” He sighs. “Well, maybe we should make another bet today where you put another stupid tattoo on my body so I can be mad at you again.”

I hit his chest. “I knew you were mad.”

He laughs. “I wasn’t. I’m just teasing. Go.” He moves back, allowing me space to leave.

The loss of contact creates this void within me. None of this makes sense. I know what I need, and I’ve never wavered. Yet I can’t deny that I feel drawn to this man in a manner that seems bigger than lust.

I climb off the bed and turn back to face him. Leaning down, I press my hands against the mattress in front of him, and his body stills. With closed eyes, I press my lips to his in a chaste kiss.

“I really am sorry,” I whisper against his lips.

Standing, I turn toward the door and don’t spare him a backward glance as I leave the room.

---