He shifts, his shoes scraping on the concrete. His voice softens when he asks, “Did you like it?”
I don’t even know how to answer. I can’t get the sounds out of my head, and my mind is in overtime picturing what might have been happening behind those closed doors…picturing what Weston might do to me if we went into one of the rooms.
“Did you like what you heard? The sounds they make? Mia, could you picture yourself in one of those rooms?” It’s like he’s reading my mind. Feeling like he knows what’s in my private thoughts makes me so uncomfortable I can’t even look at him.
I bite my lip. I can still feel that energy—that pull of Weston toward me.
“I was scared,” I say, my eyes on the ground. “But I also liked it—because you were there with me.”
I see his shoes edge closer to me. I finally look up. Weston’s eyes have turned heavy, penetrating my own with a message that seems clear: he wants me.
It seems impossible. My heart races, and I wonder if he’s going to do anything, and if I should do anything with him. As thoughts swirl in my mind, he puts one hand flat on the brick wall next to me, leans closer until I can feel his breath on my face. So slowly, his lips move toward me, and when they press into mine, all reason is blacked out of my mind.