Page 25 of The Fangirl and the Crooner

“Sorry. I should go,” he says, then spins on a heel and strides down the hall to his bedroom.

I poke my head out and watch as he closes the door behind him without looking back, leaving me feeling bereft. Straightening, I close my own door as softly as possible and then just stand there, staring at it.

After a couple of minutes, I accept the fact that he’s not coming back.

And…I guess I have my answer.

Bram and I are just friends, and that’s all he wants. Friendship.

And even though I told myself I‘d be happy with that––and I definitelyamhappy––I can’t stop feeling the disappointment that floods through me and saps the energy from my entire body. Without changing or brushing my teeth, I walk toward the bed, climb onto it, and curl myself into a ball on top of the covers before letting the tears leak from my eyes.

One cry. I’ll allow myself to mourn what could’ve been this one time, then I’ll get over it.

I have to.

Chapter

Sixteen

Bram

Fuck, that was close.

I’m not stupid. I could clearly see how my little performance was affecting Pressley. And the effect I was having on her had an effect onme. One I had no desire to tamp down.

I don’t know. I guess I was hoping she’d lose control? Maybe attack me right there on the couch and put us both out of our misery?

I should’ve known better. Pressley did exactly what Pressley does… She ran.

But I couldn’t leave it at that. No, I had to follow her to her room and coerce her into admitting what we both knew. She was turned on and didn’t know how to handle it.

And hell if I didn’t almost take advantage of her little flash of desire. I wasthisclose to pushing my way into her room, throwing her on the bed, and findingout the answers to all of my questions. For instance, how would she feel with her body pressed against mine? How would she taste? How loud does she scream when she comes?

Ijustfucking decided it would be best to keep the line between us firmly drawn at friendship, and here I am already toeing that line just a few short hours later. She’s too tempting as it is, but when she’s obviously turned on by me?Fuckme.

I don’t know how I’m going to do this. I don’t know how I’m going to be Pressley’s friend without succumbing to my not-so-hidden deeper desires.

Moving to the bed, I stretch out on the mattress and pull my phone from my pocket. Tapping the screen, I pull up Pressley’s contact and open our text thread. I stare at it with my thumbs poised over the screen for several beats, then slowly tap out what I hope is a “safe” message.

Me:I had a good time tonight. Thank you.

I watch as the message status goes from delivered to read and fight the urge to hold my breath as I wait. Several beats tick by, and just when I’m convinced she’s not going to text me back, a little bubble with three dots appears on the screen. I hold my breath now, waiting for her response.

Pressley:I had fun, too. Dinner was great.

It doesn’t escape my notice that she avoided mentioning what happened after, focusing solely on the dinner portion of the evening. I’m fine with that.

Me: You didn’t think the sauce was too salty?

Pressley: No, it was perfect.

Me: Well, your salads were amazing.

Pressley: I put lettuce, cheese, and croutons in a bowl and drizzled bottled salad dressing over it.

Me: The perfect amount of each ingredient.

Pressley:You’re ridiculous. LOL

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