Page 12 of Living Hell

Tyler, who had no idea we would be within each other’s stink zone, had surprisingly pleasant breath. It only made the idea of kissing him that much more attractive.

“Then make me leave,” I said but couldn’t actually claim ownership of the line . . . It was from a scene where I played sorority girl number two in the teen comedy Rush Week. I was the smart girl in the sorority. The audience could tell because my character wore glasses.

Tyler blinked a few times. I thought he was about to say something but instead, he leaned closer. He was so close that his mouth did something that I had wanted since I was eighteen. His lips brushed against mine and it was like an electrical storm raged around us. I wouldn’t have been surprised to glance in the mirror and find my hair standing on end.

He felt it too because no man made a sound like he did unless something glorious hit their lips. It’s usually some form of dessert, at least in my case it was, but this time it was the taste of my lips.

The vibration from his groan reached so far down inside me, I wanted it to stay there forever, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Because there was a knock at the door. Whoever stood on the porch would be known from here on out as the killer of kisses.

Tyler straightened and gave his head a slight shake. It wasn’t hard to tell from the way he gazed at me that the almost-kiss wouldn’t happen again. I knew this because it was how he looked at me the last time I saw him. Back then I was naïve enough to believe it meant longing or love or some other nonsense.

I made the decision many years ago to avoid romantic entanglements and only sleep with men. My life was busy enough that I haven’t had a lot of one-night stands, but enough to keep me satisfied.

“Don’t answer that,” I said and had never meant anything more in my life.

Tyler turned his head. I don’t know if he was waiting for another knock or not, but I was hoping the person would think no one was home and go away.

Another knock.

His shoulders slumped. Was that from relief or disappointment?

I shook my head, hoping he wouldn’t answer. But with anything involving Tyler, the outcome wouldn’t make me happy.

Instead of moving toward the door, Tyler said, “Things have changed for me. We aren’t teenagers anymore. We can’t just—”

I refused to listen to him. Maybe someone did need to answer the door. If there was one thing this man was good at, it was taking happiness and pointing out all that’s wrong with it.

I held up a hand. “Stop.”

Moving away from our emotionally twisted moment, I went to the front door, my fingers gripped and pulled the knob like I wanted to do with Tyler’s neck.

A man stood on the other side. He was tall, handsome, with perfectly styled, thick black hair, and a bewildered look on his face.

“Maybe I have the wrong address. Is Tyler Ferguson here?”

My eyes skimmed his body, assessing for a possible idea that bubbled up in my head. Despite not having a hair out of place, he had a ruggedness about him. Maybe it was his unusual eyes—one was blue, while the other was a greenish-hazel. It made him seem like he wasn’t all that he appeared.

More importantly, he’d be perfect for a one-night stand.

“I didn’t catch your name,” I said as I leaned my head against the edge of the door with an inviting smile.

The rosiness of his cheeks intensified as he stumbled to remember his name. “Uh, it’s, um, Goode. I mean, my name is Austen Goode.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Mr. Goode. I’m I.D. Please, won’t you come inside? It’s a warm day outside and you look so hot.”

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