Page 88 of The Paris Roommates: Dean
“Dammit, talk to me! Do you think that was easy for me to say? Kyle, I don’t want to lose you as a friend. Or anything else for that matter. We have the others and Nanine to think about. We have the business—”
“I know!” he practically yelled, speaking at last.
His admission had her wrapping her arms around herself. “We can’t screw that up.”
“I know,” he said with less heat. “Dammit, I know, Mad.”
The sound of the nickname again had her heart feeling like someone had put it through the meat grinder. “I couldn’t take it if I…if I lost you guys. Oryou.”
God, she was going to lose it. Right here like a big baby. She turned and started walking toward the stairs at a strong clip. He caught her halfway there, gripping her shoulders and turning her around. He looked her straight in the eyes and the shared anguish had her clutching his shirt.
“Sex always screws things up,” she whispered. “Promise me we won’t screw it up.”
For a moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, but he pulled her to his chest and rocked her in his arms.
“We won’t screw it up,” he promised hoarsely. “And you aren’t losing me, okay? Or anyone else. I promise you. Because I can’t stand to lose you or any of our friends either.”
She dug her face into his warm chest, savoring his smell and fighting tears. The hands on her back were firm and assuring, and she didn’t want to push them away. “Okay,” she muttered against his shirt. “God! I hate this. I never should have kissed you!”
He cupped the back of her neck in a fleeting clasp, almost too gentle to be called anything other than a caress. “I don’t exactly like being unhinged by this either.”
They had that in common. She suddenly was afraid to move. Afraid to look up. There would be something in his eyes that she couldn’t take, something that would tempt her to want more again. Because God, she could feel the pull… “Maybe I should get my cleaver. We could carve this junk out of our insides and throw it in the trash.”
His snort of laughter seemed forced. “Youwouldmake a cleaver joke.”
“It was just a joke earlier…what I said in the kitchen.” She had to push back and tell him. “I knew you didn’t outfit the kitchen like that because you wanted me to cook for you.”
He touched her cheek in a painful, fleeting caress before dropping his hand. “Honesty at last. I’m glad you could say it.”
His other hand was still wrapped around her. Someone was going to have to push away in a moment, but she didn’t have the strength right now. She touched the button on his shirt before she realized what she was doing. “It was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Hands down. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, his voice finally sounding more normal.
“And I really want you to have the bigger room.” She would have to wrestle like hell with herself not to imagine him in that room—in bed. “When I sleep, I’m out. No happy little sunrays are going to wake me before I’m ready.”
“Spoken like the bull you are.” He tapped her nose, something she’d seen him do with Thea, and it was weird and a little wonderful, and not at all the kind of thing Madison Garcia was supposed to like.
“Hey, I’m an Aries,” she protested, because they needed more banal conversation to steer them past the earlier wreckage. “Not a Taurus.”
“You’re on the cusp, or so Brooke said when she listed everyone’s astrological profile after we first met, using her ‘madCosmoskills,’ as she called them.”
Her mouth finally wanted to twitch, thank God. “And you are a Leo through and through like the Golden Boy you are.”
He smiled sadly. “Yeah. That’s me. The Golden Boy who gets everything he wants.”
She heard the irony. He couldn’t have her. She could feel the pull between them again, especially since they still had their arms around each other. “So we’ve turned the key in the box and thrown it in the ocean, right?”
His rueful laugh sounded forced. “Yes, back to where the lobsters in your Michelin-star salad come from.”
Her heel gently connected with his shin, and he winced playfully. “Don’t joke about Michelin.”
“I’ll remind you of that when you get what you deserve.” He rubbed her back once more before dropping his arms and stepping back. “Because that star is yours, Mad. I know it in my gut, and it’s never wrong.”
She fought the urge to grin, both from his complete certainty and that stupid nickname, something else she liked more than she should. “So we can get back to Dean and the others and celebrate?”
He nodded after another long moment, his eyes roving over her face. “Yes. I’m good. You?”
Nothing was perfect, but she wasn’t a mess inside anymore. Imminent disaster had stopped knocking on her door. His color had returned to normal too, and his eyes weren’t killing her with what she saw in their depths. “Yep. Back to my usual snarky self. I think we should pick up a couple of cakes on the way over as cover. We don’t need anyone thinking we were arguing this whole time.”
