Page 12 of Recover

Just friends.

“About … Felix,” I said, moving a couple inches closer to him, “it’s nothing serious. I promise.”

“But it’s something,” he said, and I could hear all the hope evaporating from his voice. “I don’t understand. You … him … How?”

I gulped. The truth was, Felix wasn’t even the problem, or Leo. Elliot was the real punchline. But I couldn’t bring that up to Pierre. Not now.

Not ever.

“He’s not as bad as he was before,” I tried explaining, and bit my tongue. It sounded so stupid. So fake. “I mean, he goes to Powell, a school nearby. We met at a party,” I continued, lying. “He’s actually kinda nice. He gave me this gift card for the restaurant for you. He wanted me to take you out to dinner.”

“Let me guess,” Pierre answered, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “People change, am I right?”

It sounded cliché, but it was true. That’s exactly what I was trying to get across to him. Of course, I had experienced everything that he had, and Pierre had every right to be suspicious of Felix. I would’ve been, too.

“Kat, here’s the thing,” Pierre continued. “If Felix, that Felix, is being nice to you, it’s because he’s up to something. Didn’t think I’d have to spell that out for you.”

“I know,” I replied tonelessly, my eyes dropping to his hands gripping the edge of the sink. “You’re right.”

At this point, I’d say anything to make him feel better. I’d do anything.

He had every right to feel the way he did.

“But I’m here now,” I murmured, and found my hand moving toward his. All of a sudden, both my palms were travelling up his arms. I didn’t know what made me do it, but in that moment, it just felt … natural. “Don’t think about Felix. It’s just us.”

I felt my body grow closer to him, and before I knew it, I’d pressed my lips against his.

Keeping myself there, I expected him to lean in. But he remained still, even tense, as I pulled back from him. Now it was my turn to apologize. I was blushing all over.

Nothing that Elliot and his boys had done could make me as embarrassed as kissing my best friend, only for him to not reciprocate.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed, my gaze flitting around the mirror behind him, trying to look everywhere but his face. “I don’t why I—”

I felt Pierre’s lips against mine, his touch soft, timid. After a moment, he pulled me in closer to him, his lips tugging hesitantly on mine. His arms were way stronger than I’d ever imagined they would be, and I felt the mellow ridges of his biceps as he wrapped his arms around my waist. He was warm. Familiar … right. Before I knew it, our tongues were moving together in a smooth rhythm, as if we’d been doing this since day one, as if we’d been lovers from the start.

Until he started to move his hand up my shirt.

“Pierre,” I breathed, breaking the kiss for a startled moment.

He immediately dropped his hands away from me, holding them up as if he’d been caught guilty of a crime.

“Sorry,” he said. “We can stop if you want.”

“No, it’s just—” I felt myself blushing again at my quick objection to his stopping. “I just wasn’t expecting that. It’s fine. It’s nice,” I said, struggling with the words coming out of my mouth. Just to make sure he got it, I let my hand dance up his side and up to his neck, and began to run the thick dark locks through my fingers. “We can keep going, if you want to.”

He nodded, the gesture so small and heavy as if he knew he was dreaming, and didn’t want to startle himself awake. It was cute. Dipping my head, I let out a little giggle, trying to picture ourselves leaning against the sink of an elaborate restroom in a British restaurant that had us convinced we were in Paris, and wondered if we’d end up regretting this.

But this was minuscule compared to the problems we’d faced together over the past few years. No matter what happened, we could overcome it. Nothing could ever really come between us.

Especially not each other.

Without thinking, I tugged his head forward, and planted my lips on his again, slipping my tongue past his teeth. Pierre leaned into it, and we staggered backward until we collapsed back against the door. I’d known his smell like it was my own, musty like his house with a soft tinge of something sweet, like cinnamon—but as moved my kisses down along his jawline, I caught a whiff of cologne. He’d really come prepared.

Maybe it was all the practice I’d had over the past few days between Elliot and the others, but Pierre seemed caught off guard as my fingers began to toy with his belt buckle. He paused, bringing his back head back from mine.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, more aware of the door than I was, the fact that it was the only thing that separated us from a restaurant full of strangers. Not that I gave a fuck.

Instead of answering, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a condom packet. I had learned to be prepared for anything. Next, I slid my hand around the small of his back and pulled him closer, pressing the condom into his hand.

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