Page 44 of The Girlfriend Zone

Her resolve spotlights that she’s better at this than I am. She’s got a stronger handle on this…thing between us.

I slump back, drag a hand through my hair, and swallow the longing I feel. My gaze falls absently on the two glasses on the table. Bubbly water for her. Iced tea for me. Was that intentional? Maybe I knew that if I got buzzed, I’d give in.

“I’ll drive you home,” I say.

She arches a brow, but she smirks too, wordlessly asking,Are we really going there?

But I toss some bills on the table to cover the tab and leave the bar before either of us can sayshouldorshouldn’t.

Once we’re in my car, I ask, “You still live at the same place?”

She shakes her head. “Actually, I moved into Maeve’s little apartment for a while. My former roomies were having really loud sex, like, all the time.”

I laugh as I turn into traffic. “That must have been annoying.”

She gives me the address and watches me plug it into the car’s navigation, then adds, “But Maeve’s windowsill is inhabited by some seriously randy pigeons. So I can’t seem to escape loud banging. You’d think for a girl with hearing loss, this wouldn’t be an issue. But you’d be wrong.”

I love that she can poke fun at herself. “I guess you’re not a voyeur, then?”

“You are correct,” she says, then adds, “but I’m moving back in with the loud sexers in a few weeks.”

“Need any help? With the move?” I ask without thinking. I know we shouldn’t be alone again, but here I am, offering to help her.

You’re alone in the car with her right now, you dickhead.

“I think I can manage,” she says. Her independent streak excites me, even though I kind of wish she’d say yes.

Her place isn’t too far away. I park on a side street and turn off the car. “Thanks for showing me the pictures,” I say, “and getting that drink.” Am I stalling? Maybe.

“Glad you liked them.” Her tone is teasing, playful. “Are you going to demand them from me again?”

“Did I demand the last ones?”

She rolls her eyes. “You were kind of demanding, Miles.”

I think about the night she sent me the pics and the many nights I’ve spent with them since. “Worth it.” I hold her gaze and lick my lips. “So worth it.”

She doesn’t look away. I can’t say who breaks the stare first. But the next thing I know, my lips are crashing down on hers. She meets me, pressing closer, and I curl my hand around the back of her head.

I expect something like our first kiss in the studio—a sultry tango of a kiss, like a slow sip of brandy.

But this kiss is a shot of tequila. It streaks straight to my head, and I see stars. It’s white-hot, full of teeth and moans.

Leighton maneuvers a hand between us, grabbing my shirt collar and jerking me close. My glasses are in the way, so I wrench apart from her to rip them off, setting them—maybe—on the console. “Fucking glasses,” I mutter.

“They’re still hot,” she murmurs.

This woman.

She gets me going more than anyone ever has. “C’mere,” I say. “Need to kiss you again.”

“So do it,” she taunts.

I grip the back of her head again, and she gasps. Then I seal my lips to hers once more. I growl into her mouth, and the sound seems to excite her. She pulls me closer. I grip the back of her head tighter. We kiss deeper, our tongues skating together. Mouths exploring. Breath coming fast.

I slide my fingers into her hair and tighten my fist at her nape, tipping her chin to the perfect angle. I coast mylips down her throat, kissing the soft, delicate skin there, my free hand tugging at the top of her shirt.

I should stop. Really, I should.

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