Page 45 of My Book Boyfriend
“Should I go?” I want to stay, but I should go.
“I promised you hot chocolate. It’s not like the posters were a surprise to me. Were they really a surprise to you?”
“More of a painful reminder,” I say.
She stares at me, her eyebrows raised, and then pulls me by the hand into their kitchenette. This is a small apartment. The oven and dishwasher have been slimmed down. A hose seems to run from the dishwasher to the kitchen faucet. She clicks on the under-the-counter lighting, pulls a saucepan off a wall hook, grabs milk from the small refrigerator, checks the dishwasher, turns off the tap, and unscrews the hose—all completely efficient, like this is something she does often.
The white, metal cabinets stand out against the royal-blue kitchen wall. Red potholders hang off a hook, and an orange, clay pitcher holds a wooden spoon and other cooking utensils. It gives off a very cozy, cheerful vibe.
I canneverinvite her to my empty, cavernous apartment. I’ll look like a total, spoiled millionaire.
“We don’t have a living room,” she says. “We used it to create another bedroom, so maybe we should take the hot chocolates to my bedroom? That way, we won’t wake up Bella.”
She takes out two packets of milk chocolate mix. “Marshmallows or not?”
This kitchenette is so small that we’re right next to each other.
“Definitely marshmallows.”
“Good choice.” Her arm brushes mine as she pours the milk.
“Can I do anything?” I ask.
“There’s really nothing to do.” She stirs the milk.
Nothing can happen. This is merely a friendly overture. If the signs that fell out of the closet are any indication, soon we’ll be on opposite sides of a picket line.
I shouldn’t have come over here. In the dim lighting, next to her, whispering, surrounded by the smell of chocolate, the temptation to kiss her is too great.
She glances at me, tilting her head. I want to run my fingers along her slim, pale neck, down to where her green, velvet dress meets her shoulder, slipping that down, trailing kisses. Spine-tingling kisses.
Chapter twelve
Lily
IglanceatRupert.His eyes have gone all black, and the air is suddenly very heavy.
I feel myself leaning toward him.
No.
I grab a mug of hot chocolate and shove it into his hand.
Fooling around is not a good idea. No matter how attractive he is. No matter if I was tempted to kiss his neck when pressed against his hard body as he wheeled me uptown.
No matter that he makes me laugh.
No matter that I think he has a heart.
I can’t losemyheart.
I turn abruptly and lead the way into my bedroom.
Bad idea.
The bed looms. My bedroom is small; my queen bed, up against the brick wall, takes up most of the space. I motion to my tiny nightstand so he doesn’t trip over it. A bookshelf hangs above the bed. A small desk for my computer sits between the foot of my bed and the large window seat. And in front of that, trying to capture as much sunlight as possible during the day, struts my bird of paradise plant, like a peacock spreading out all its feathers.
The dark night outside the glass windows doesn’t reveal any answers.
