Page 50 of My Undead Heart

But still ... his body is magnificent. A well trained wall of muscle, speed, and agility. He would deliver an amazing fuck. I just know it.

“Mia ...” He groans and his forehead drops to rest on mine. Matt continues to keep his body at a distance and my center aches for him to come closer.

“Matt.” His name leaves my mouth in a whisper. I’m too scared to say it any louder, as if that will allow him into my thoughts. God, how I want to lift my hips to rub against him. I can already feel how hard he is and we’re barely touching.

“Can I ...” His breath, as heavy as mine, skitters across my earlobe and shoots a shiver down my spine. My center pulses with need and my eyelids flutter shut as his mouth ghosts over my ear. Whatever he asks, I think I’ll say yes.Can I take you back to my place? Can we exchange our dates for no pants parties?Better yet,Fuck me, please?He doesn’t say any of those things, though. He has incredible strength, because even though I feel his arousal harden between us he doesn’t make one attempt to thrust or grind forward.

“Can I kiss you?” His request comes like a splash of cold water and it pulls me right out of my lust induced state.

“No.” My reply is quick and without deliberation. Had he asked anything else I might have said yes. Sex. Fucking. Getting off. Those are propelled by the natural desire to experience carnal pleasure. But kissing? Kissing is intimate. It’s filled with romance and a promise of more. It leads to feelings and crap I just can’t think about. Basically, it’s what I avoid at all cost. Sure, had we fucked, we probably would have kissed, but to ask for that ... To lead with it? That’s a piece I’m not willing to give freely. Especially not to Matt.

“Okay.” He breathes out a deep exhale and pushes off the floor, leaning back on his heels. Taking his hair in his hands, he winds it back in one of those topknots only some men can pull off and still appear manly. His erection strains against the fabric of his athletic shorts, and sweat glistens on his chest. It’s really difficult not to stare or regret my decision, but I accomplish both by crawling to my knees and then standing.

He does the same. “I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s fine.” I shake my head. “Don’t apologize.”

He exhales another heavy breath. “We should probably call it a night.”

“Yeah.” I can’t even meet his steady gaze.

“Give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you at the back.”

“You don’t have to. I mean, I can take the bus.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You love riding on my bike,” he says with a cocky grin and I wonder if he doesn’t know how much I secretly enjoy it. Only there’s no way he could so he must be messing with me. I’m thankful he’s letting me get away without talking about feelings. For not making it weird or laying on a guilt trip for turning him down.

“Right. The death-a-nator on wheels. Nothing says love like a healthy dose of fear on the road. You got me.”

His laughter squelches all that’s left of our awkward miss of an encounter. Just like that, we’re back to comfortable. “In that case, I’ll grab my keys.” He turns and walks away before I can argue or come back with a clever quip, and I realize I don’t want to. As much as I pushed him away, there’s a part of me that’s pleased he didn’t run. She’s the same whorish part that’s smacking me for turning him down. Because she knows as well as I do a kiss with Matt would have led to a sex-filled night worthy of bragging rights for the century.

“You ready?” he asks but I haven’t moved an inch.

I run across the room to grab my things and pull on my jacket and shoes, and then meet him at the exit as he’s keying in the code. We don’t speak on the walk to his bike, or when he hands me the helmet. The engine roars to life and I relish the inability to make conversation for the next few miles until he drops me back at home. He doesn’t move off the bike, but helps me off at the curb in front of my building with a blinding smile. It’s then I realize I haven’t asked him why he was working a painting job downtown, or if he still is. Or updated him on the status of his website. And we still have those dates. Those horribly daunting dates hanging over us like a cloud. Before he can say good night I have to give him an out.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I’m not—”

“It’s okay, Mia. You didn’t want me to kiss you. That’s why I asked.”

“I totally understand if you want to cancel our dates—”

His laughter rises over his idling engine and he shakes his head. “Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not getting out of that bet so easily. I have big, big plans. Sunday. Pick you up at two o’clock, sharp.”

I shake my head because there’s no way he’s serious. “I’m just saying I’d understand. Nothing’s going to happen between us, Matt. It’ll only be a waste of time.”

“Funny, I don’t see it that way,” he says matter of factly and fastens his helmet atop his head. “See you Sunday. Good night, Mia.” He nods and pulls away from the curb before I can even respond.

Making my way inside my apartment, I flick on old re-runs of my favorite show for background noise while I shower and get ready for bed.Why would he still want the dates? Why didn’t I let him kiss me?My mind is a confliction of self-doubt while my body goes through my nightly routine. When I snuggle under my comforter, the coldness of my apartment seeps in through my wet hair, but it’s his last words that leave me most alarmed. Matt and me together doesn’t make sense.He doesn’t see it that way. His resolve rings with a truth that frightens me more than the zombies on screen who feast on human hearts.

---