Page 40 of His Last Shot
Because he would. They all do. And it would hurt. So much.
No other option is on the table. Because there is no doubt that I am falling for this man. Fast and hard.
I need to do this. Pushing him away is the only route, so I puff my chest out in mock confidence in this crazy idea as I lie to him. “It was amazing. Drew and I had a great time.”
Yep. Solid plan!
“Huh.” He takes one swift stride toward me. “Did you dance with him?” he asks, a hint of challenge in his tone as I take a quick step back. The question hangs heavy in the air, his voice a dark, velvety murmur that steals my breath.
Another step, closer to me.
Keep it together, Rachel!
“Yep. Lots and lots of dancing. Loads of dancing. Slow, fast, you name it.” The lie comes out shaky, my stiff joints making even the thought of dancing laughable. The reception comes flooding back. Drew gave me the same look of disgust Sean did when I couldn’t dance at prom. And for that reason, Drew and I only danced once. And it was oh so awkward. His hands on my body felt foreign and made my skin crawl.
On the ride back to my place, he apologized over and over for his, as he called it, “error in judgement.” Then, to top the night off with a cherry on melted ice cream, he tried to kiss me. He left with my palm print on his cheek, but not before calling me a tease as he stormed off. That’s it, full stop.
Johnny stalks two more steps closer.
He moves toward me, determined.
Two steps away.
With a thud, my back hits the refrigerator door. Johnny is standing centimeters from me now, his breath warm on my face as he peers down. And, dear Lord, his scent—something undeniably him—engulfs me. His eyes land on my lips. “Did you kiss him?”
I can’t form words as his hand skates up my bare arm. My lids flutter close. “Mm-hmm.”
His lips areright there, warm and close, as his hand, rough against my skin, rakes my arm. Up and down. Up and down. Up and—I'm not breathing.
“I don’t believe you,” he whispers. “Want to know what I think?”
My eyes fly open. We stare. The zippy knot in my chest isn’t moving. It crackles and sizzles like a campfire. Each touch from him a log being tossed at it, igniting it more. I nod involuntarily. His lips tick slightly. He knows what he’s doing right now. “The only thing on your mind that night was me.”
God, he’s so right.
A searing heat from that darn campfire now radiates through my head with each word he speaks. “As he stood beside you in his cheap rented Men’s Warehouse tux, you ached for me. When he pulled up in his Kia Soul, you wanted more than anything to be sitting in the passenger seat of my truck, with me in the driver’s seat.”
My whole body comes alive as he reads me like a book. His voice is low, and God help me, nothing but … all man … as his truthful words roll off his tongue. This pent-up chemistry I have for him vibrates within me, a frantic hum, and I swallow hard, trying to push it away.
It doesn’t work.
“And when his hand landed on your lower back while you were dancing”—his large palm spreads across my back, tugging me to him—“you wanted it to be mine.”
Plan? What plan? I had a plan?
“And when his lips touched yours, it was my face that you saw. My lips that you felt.” His mouth inches closer. “Tell me you feel what I feel when I’m with you. Tell me.”
I’m pretty sure I am having an out-of-body experience at this point. My eyes close. “I feel it.”
“What do you feel?”
“Alive.”
And that’s exactly how my body reacts as his mouth lightly grazes mine in yet another feather-light kiss.
It comes alive.
He’s tentative at first as his mouth glides over mine softly, waiting for me to kiss him back. But this time, I don’t pull away as I did before.
