Page 73 of 4 Hints You Love Your Best Friend

More voltage strikes my sternum, exploding through my body as tenderness burns the backs of my eyes.Love.I love this woman so damn much.

I didn’t know kissing could be like this, short-circuit my brain while filling my heart. I think her name—Jo. My sweet Jolene—but I can’t speak. I can only kiss her more deeply, breathe her oxygen as we move against each other, again and again, our bodies grinding to the rhythm of our mouths. Pushing. Pulling. Searching for an answer to this impossible situation until her legs are latched around my waist. My hand is fused to her hip, my aching cock notched against the hot center of her.

My cock pulses. Her hips jerk.

Our lips are still connected, but we’re not kissing now. I don’t move a fucking inch. It would be so easy to tear off my briefs, strip her naked. Learn the full glory of the woman under me.Just once. Just a kiss.

I pull my head back slightly. Enough to see her face. I pant out a desperate sound. Tears cling to her lashes. An encyclopedia of unsaid words splays across her face, that mysterious beauty mark the punctuation to her turmoil.

Our on-edge bodies stay flush, but I cup her cheek. “I wish…”

“Me too.” She drags her thumb over my bottom lip. “If I was ruined for other men before, I’m destroyed now.”

I drop my head into her palm, like a cat needing affection. “Told you once wouldn’t help.”

She shifts her hips, making the situation in my briefs unbearable. “Still worth it.”

“For some asinine reason, I agree.”

We stare at each other. I nip the tips of her fingers, can’t bring myself to separate our bodies. And maybe I shouldn’t. This is the type of connection that has hope burning bright through every crack in my heart. Our hips press harder, like we’re speaking through movement. Testing how far we’re willing to take this.Just once. Just a kiss.

The barest friction turns my body haywire. Our chests pump hard, and I can’t stop. Don’t want to. I never want to leave this room or lose the addictive feeling of Jolene pressed up against me.

My phone rings.

For sure Jake. Work.

I blink, rattled. Suddenly furious at myself for letting this get out of hand.

“That’ll be Jake,” I say, pulling away, trying to get out of the sheets, still so turned on it hurts to move.

“Cal,” Jo says, pausing my rising panic. “We didn’t do anything wrong. Jake and I aren’t together. All we did was kiss. Please don’t push me away. I’m sorry if I made things worse.”

She’s right. Sort of. Maybe not. And that was more than a kiss.

I scrub at my face. “I wanted that kiss as much as you did, so don’t you dare apologize. I promise I won’t push you away again, but I need to get to work and get my head on straight. I’m not feeling great about myself right now.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice so small it breaks me.

I hurry to the phone, so Jake doesn’t worry about me and where I am. So he doesn’t wonder if I was breaking his trust and ruining our relationship by choosing a woman over him.

chapterthirty-one

Callahan

The second I get to work, Jake takes one glance at me and looks ready to spit nails. “Do you even sleep anymore? Jesus, Cal. You look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He’s not wrong. I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror this morning—the dark circles under my eyes and stress lines sunken into my skin. I’m tanned from my outdoor work, but I looked drawn. Or maybe terrified. I’m certainly furious with myself for betraying Jake. I’m wrecked that I’ll never kiss Jolene again, feel the hungry swipe of her tongue, her hands pulling at my back—Jolene as desperate for me as I am for her.

Nah. I definitely lookedshattered.

“Had a rough night,” I tell Jake and glance around the in-progress kitchen reno like I’ve never been here before. Like I’ve never seen walls and nails and tools. Like I can’t figure out how I’m walking and talking when my heart is dragging behind me.

“Cal.” Jake takes the tool belt from my hand and drops it on the floor, forcing me to face him. “What the fuck is up with you?”

He has brown eyes, like me. We’re both tall and built, with big biceps and veined forearms from our physical job and gym workouts. We have callused hands and small scars from occasional work accidents, like the time I sliced my elbow on a jagged piece of pipe and bled all over the room. Our insides, however, are nothing alike.

Where I stay positive through action—plotting, planning, taking chance out of circumstance—Jake is a worrier. Hard eyes. Firmed mouth. Thick shoulders shoved back, like the platoon leader he tries to be, wrangling his brothers so we don’t fall off any more cliffs.

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