Page 58 of Hold You Close
“I thought it was just sex, and just for fun. That’s what you said this morning.”
“I meant, It’s just sex, there is no reason to freak out. Not, It’s just sex and nothing more. You were the one who called it a mistake before we even got out of bed.”
“Because I thought I was just another notch in your bedpost,” she blurts. “I figured you were just scratching an itch.”
“Scratching an itch?” I set my cup down and cross my arms again. “Did you think I used you for sex?”
“Kind of.”
I have to laugh. “London, if I was just looking for sex, I wouldn’t have come to you. There are plenty of women who’d—”
She puts out a hand. “Okay, enough. You can just stop that sentence there, I don’t need to hear the end of it.”
“Sorry.” I moved toward her. “But if that’s what had you all worked up, you can relax.” Taking her by the shoulders, I turn her to face me, set my hips against hers. “I want more. How much more, I’ll be honest and say I don’t know, but not just sex.”
She can’t keep a smile from forming, or the blush from her cheeks. “Really?”
“Really.” I press my lips to hers, and it’s a different kind of kiss than we’ve had so far, one not inspired by frustration or impatience or lust. Instead, this one is about honesty. Affection.Feelingsfeelings.
Jesus. I hope I can handle this.
Thirteen
London
I’m living in an alternate reality. That’s the only thing that can explain this. Ian . . . wants to go . . . on a date . . . with me?
Not possible.
Yet I was standing right there. I heard the words, his lips were moving, and it happened.
I’ve been packing my suitcase for the last two hours because each time I think I’m done, I realize I only packed underwear or ten pairs of pants but no shirts.
I can’t think straight and it’s pissing me off.
All I want is to talk to my best friend, but I don’t have that option anymore.
“Fuck this,” I say to my cat as I dump my bag out on the bed. “I’m going to get answers so I can function.”
He looks up at me and then lies back down. Helpful cat.
I grab my phone and send him a text.
Me:Did you mean it? About the date?
Ian: Yes.
Me: You’re not just fucking with me as some sort of hazing experiment?
Ian: Are you drunk again?
Me: I’m not drunk.
I wish I was drunk.It would explain the conversation we had three hours ago. My flight leaves in a few hours and I shouldn’t be worried about Ian and his sudden feelings.
Ian:Did you change your mind?
I look at the message,trying to figure out how to answer him. If I say I changed my mind, I’m lying because I don’t know that I ever made up my mind, but more than that, I’m still . . . in shock. However, Ian put himself out there. He was kind, sweet even, after we had sex—again. It’s unlike we’ve been towards each other for the last twenty years and it’s confusing as hell.
