Page 45 of Cheater and the Saint
Caught in the act of creepily admiring him while he slept, I backed off him and stood from the couch. “Well, it’s late. Goodnight, Frosty.”
Without another word—or look in his direction—I hurried down the hall and slipped inside my room. Of course, it wasn’t until I was lying in bed, recalling the embarrassing moment, when I thought of all the witty things I could’ve said instead of running away like a kid caught doing something he shouldn’t.
For the most part, I was sharp-witted and said shit that even I was shocked came out of my mouth, but that night was different. I hadn’t just been watching him sleep—I’dfeltsomething as I’d done it. I’d wanted to brush my thumb across his slightly parted lips; to run my nose along his cheek and jaw. To be close to him.
And it scared me.
It’s just because you want to fuck him, I repeated in my head… multiple times. Almost as if I was trying to convince myself it was true.
The faint light under my door flickered out, and I knew Saint had turned off the living room light and was probably going to bed. His footsteps sounded in the hall, soft, and then I heard his door click shut.
I hoped that once I finally had a taste of Saint, my desire would be snuffed out, and I’d be able to go back to the guy I used to be—the one who’d fucked his way through life with as many different people as he could.
Yeah. That’s what I wanted.
Right?
