The past few nights I’d gone theignore the attraction while avoiding her as much as possiblemethod, but it was starting to make me feel shitty, on top of grouchy. I just needed to figure out how to make the most of our limited time together without turning it into weeks we’d later regret.
Regret. There was that word again, and something about it rubbed me the wrong way.
Because I wouldn’t regret pulling her close, kissing those full lips, and exploring every inch of her soft skin with my hands.
My blood pumped hot in my veins, and I ran my eyes up her long legs, let them snag on the ass that was displayed so nicely with her bending over the couch like that, and then moved up to her hair. I wanted to wrap my fist in it while I tilted back her head and…
And that’s enough of those thoughts.
This was the problem with hanging out. My brain kept forgetting the “chill” part of hanging out. Because while I wouldn’t regret making those moves, I’d regret the weirdness after. That I couldn’t give her what she wanted.
A glimpse of her and Carlos laughing had been enough to send me into a tailspin, making it damn hard to concentrate on training drills. I’d reassured myself nothing was going on between them. They knew each other, and he was a mutual friend. One who’d beat me the last time we’d stepped into the cage, during a fight when I’d been thinking far too much about Chelsea on the sidelines. Sure, I was the more inexperienced fighter, and I could make a dozen other excuses, but the truth was, I’d lost my focus.
Just for a minute or so—plus the few weeks before that when I’d been lingering on the idea of kissing her and taking our relationship to another level—and it’d resulted in a loss that took a lot of work to come back from.
Which meant crossing lines was still a solid no. Bad idea. Do not kiss best friend and pass go.No pulling her up flush against me and claiming that mesmerizing mouth.
“Liam?” She’d spun to face me, and her ass leaned against the back of the couch now, her hands on either side of her.
After a slow exhale, I almost managed to shove away the idea of tackling her and taking her to the couch cushions where she’d be pinned underneath me.Almost.“Yeah.”
“I know wine isn’t your thing, but I bought a bottle, and if you have even just a sip, I won’t feel like I’m a sad girl drinking alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I said.
“Right, but George can’t drink wine.”
I flattened my lips, and a beautiful grin spread across her face—she thought she was so funny. And she was. It was one of the things I loved—er, felt very fondly about. Fortunately, moving to the kitchen gave me a second to readjust and get my dirty-thought reel under control. I grabbed two glasses that were far from the fancy ones most people used for wine, the bottle, and rounded the couch, since she’d moved to sitting on it the normal way.
“Actually, I’m going to go change into my comfy clothes real quick.” Chelsea plopped George on the cushion next to me. “You two get to know each other better.”
The sound of her bedroom door closing echoed down the hall, and I looked at the cat. What did she expect me to do? Ask if he liked to chase mice? “Our girl’s a little crazy. Sexy but crazy.”
George lifted one leg and went to licking his asshole. Didn’t get much more bonded than that. I clicked on the television, and Chelsea joined me a few minutes in. She sat on the other side of George, who took up an entire cushion.
“He and I are BFFs now,” I said, then considered kicking my own ass for sayingBFFs, but I was already this deep. No need to stop now. “We’re thinking of hitting the bars together this weekend.”
Chelsea giggled and poured the wine. She handed me a glass, and I drank a sip out of obligation—it was one of those supersweet wines she loved, and I wished for something that’d burn on the way down. Make my eyes water, too, so I wouldn’t try to use X-ray vision to see if she had on a bra under her zippered hoodie.
“Ever notice how in TV shows and movies they do that slow walk back, maintaining eye contact the whole time?”
Onscreen, the character was looking at the woman he was saying goodbye to after taking her out to lunch, doing exactly what Chelsea said. “What about it?”
“I’d run into a desk or another person. I’m not cool enough for a slow walk back.”
“Guess you’ll just have to impress with your smarts and cute personality.”
She made a horrified face, like I had suggested she’d be a good candidate for clown school. “Ugh, no. I want to be smooth. Sexy.”
“You are,” I said, even though I knew I shouldn’t.
She laughed, and a snort came out on the end. “And that rules out that.” She gathered her hair into a high ponytail, and when it swung in front of her face, she picked up one of the strands. “I wonder if people would take me more seriously if my hair was a different color. Should I dye it? Maybe dark brown?”
A growl accidentally came out, and I managed to turn it into a word. “No.”
“Wow. Usually you just shrug and say, ‘Whatever you want.’ I don’t think I’ve ever heard such a strong opinion from you.”
“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a strong opinion about something.” Unable to help myself, I reached out and snagged a curl. I rubbed the silky strands between my fingers. “It’d be a shame to cover up this fiery red hair.”