Page 9 of A Slice of Love

It was more.

I knew it when I asked him. Knew it when he said yes. Knew it when his knuckles rapped against the door and when I stood on the other side almost wishing he’d leave and we wouldn’t fall into this trap we so carefully placed for ourselves.

I knew it when I asked him to come in.

And I wanted it all along.

I wantedthis.

To touch Jonas. To feel him.

To kiss him.

Suddenly we’re moving, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s headed straight for the living room.

I pull my mouth from his, looking around. Yep, that’s exactly where he’s striding off to.

“How do you know where you’re going?”

“Instinct.”

I eye him and he laughs.

“Okay, fine—I snooped when I went out to my car.” He grins at me as we stop in front of the couch. “I was curious and you’re a horrible host. You didn’t even give me a tour or show me your room.”

I don’t know why, but my eyes widen atyour roomleaving his lips.

Myroom? Jonas inmyroom…?

The thought thrills and scares me all at once. No boy has ever been in my room. Heck, I think I can count on one hand the number of times my father has been in my room.

It’s my place. My sanctuary. The one place I can go and not feel pressured by my parents or anyone else. It’s all mine. Sharing it with someone else, even Jonas, intimidates me.

As if he can feel my fear, he sets me down on my feet but doesn’t move away. I’m still practically plastered against him. With one hand on my hip, he cups my cheek with the other, brushing his thumb back and forth in both spots. I can’t decide which gentle touch I like more.

“Hey, I was teasing. Like I said, I’m not here for anything, Frank.”

I nod. “I know.”

“If you want to stop this now and finish our project and send me on my way, I’m cool with that.”

“Why do you keep trying to get me to make you leave?”

He grimaces. “Because I shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

“I asked you to.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “But I knew better.”

I don’t tell him I knew better too.

“I’m just trying to give you an out here, Frank. Because of your pace.”

“My pace?”

His grip tightens on my waist, squeezing me twice. “Yes.”

My pace?

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