Page 134 of Love in Riverbend
“Tagalong?”
“Yeah,” he says with a smirk.
“Well, I have to remind myself that you’re more than Ricky’s know-it-all, grumpy friend.”
Justin takes a step back. “Is that what you think of me?”
“Past tense.” I quickly add, “You called me a tagalong. We’re even.”
His stare is penetrating as if he’s seeing behind my eyes into my soul. “I don’t feel like we’re even when I’m around you. I feel off-kilter.”
“I’m sure you’re more experienced at this than I am.”
Justin shakes his head. “I don’t recall ever feeling this way about a kiss. No one has ever annihilated my world with one kiss.”
Taking a deep breath, I ask, “What does this mean?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
Lowering my chin, I sigh. When I look up, Justin is staring into my eyes. “Please don’t be playing some kind of a joke.”
“What?” His eyes grow wide. “Devan, I swear. I’m not.”
“I don’t think I could take it.”
“Fuck,” he hisses as his palm cups my cheek. “I don’t know what else you think of me or remember, but I’m not that person. If anything, I’m worried how Ricky will take it if you want to see me…like for real.”
“Officially?”
Justin shrugs and nods.
I tip my head to his chest with my senses on high alert. The thumping of his heart, manly scent, solid muscular chest radiating warmth…the combination has me all jumbled. “Don’t hurt me.”
“That’s the last thing I want to do.”
Taking a deep breath, I smile. “When you’re ready to officially ask me, I’ll be waiting.” I take a step away and grin. “Don’t make me wait too long, Justin Sheers.”
With that, I hurry across the gravel to my car and grab two suitcases from the back seat. I’m up on the porch when I hear Justin’s truck door open. I turn in time to see him under the dome light. His auburn hair and scruff on his cheeks. His penetrating gaze, high cheekbones, and chiseled jaw.
My heart flutters at the thought of his kisses and touch.
It’s my mind that has questions and worries.
I’ve never gone all the way.
The fact that I’m a virgin sounds archaic. I know my friends have, and that’s fine. It’s not that I have some old-fashion morality code. I think I want it to be special.
As I’m carrying my suitcases up the stairs, I’m worried that I don’t know enough to keep a man like Justin Sheers happy.
Once I’m in my room with my door closed, I call Jill.
“Are you dying?” she asks in lieu of answering. “Why are you calling this late? Are your fingers broken? Text.”
“I don’t want any written record of this conversation,” I say softly.
Jill’s tone changes. “Oh, what are we going to talk about?”
“Sex.”
