Page 139 of This Could Be Us

“Hey. Sorry to ambush you this way, but I heard about Adam and wanted to make sure he was okay. That you’re okay.”

“He’s fine now.”

“Oh, thank God.” Her shoulders slump, and she closes her eyes, breathing out her relief.

Uncertainty pins my arms to my sides. I’ve missed her so much, and holding her, being held by her is exactly what I want after a day like this one, but I’m not sure where we stand after our last conversation.

“How’d you know?” I ask.

“Inez told me when she came home from school. She was worried about Adam. I guess a lot of students were after the ambulance came. She figured I would want to know.”

“Oh, wow.” I clear my throat and slide the phone back into my pocket. “Thanks for coming. For checking on us.”

“Of course.” She looks up and toward the bank of elevators. “Were you on your way out or…”

“Yeah. I need to get home to Aaron. Tremaine’s staying here with Adam tonight.”

Her face falls, her expression shuttering. “Oh. I don’t want to hold you up. I know you—”

“I could walk you to your car?”

From habit, my hand strays to the small of her back, and her muscles tense. It’s been two weeks, and this lightest touch feels incendiary, flaring heat from one tiny point of contact. The silence tightens around us, broken by the faint ping of the elevator as it descends.

“It’s only one floor,” she says, eyes lifted and fixed on the elevator’s lit numbers. “I think I’ll take the stairs. Get my steps in.”

“Good idea.” I turn to scan the smooth lines of her profile. “Let’s take the stairs.”

She turns to look at me, and the air between us is scorched with desire and longing and desperation. We walk swiftly to the stairs. As soon as the door closes and we’re alone in the stairwell, we reach for each other. She presses me to the wall, which should feel comical since she’s half my size but is such a turn-on because her hunger claws its way to the surface, calling mine out to wrestle with hers. Our teeth knock and our lips bump and our hands scramble to find purchase on any parts of each other’s body we can. She clasps my neck, grips my ass, cups my face—all while straining up on her tiptoes to take the kiss deeper. It’s a honeycomb kiss with sweetness hidden in crevices, tucked under her tongue and in the sweet lining of her mouth. I squeeze her butt and lift, grunting when she wraps her legs around my waist.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers between our lips, raining kisses over my neck and jaw.

“So much.” I bury my face in the curve of her throat, inhaling the scent of jasmine. “God, Sol. Don’t…”

Don’t what?

Don’t make me wait any longer?

Don’t do this to us?

I swallow my words, the ones that would push her to move before she’s ready. That would implore her to choose us. To choose the life we could have togethernow. I don’t want to manipulate her, pressure her.All the reasons that separated us the last two weeks rear in my mind, interrupting these heated seconds. I lift my head, drop my hands from her butt, and let her slide down the length of my body.

Nothing’s changed. She still needs to figure out what she wants. I still want…everything. Not marriage or for her to sacrifice her needs, but I want a life with her on our terms with nothing held back. Until we can have that, sex is just a temporary fix. A very good one, but pale compared to what we could be.

“I better go.” It takes all my willpower to set her away from me, and the few inches between us immediately pulse with need. I drag my gaze up her body with slow deliberation, committing every detail to memory. Compact and curvy, wavy hair spilling down her arms, kiss-swollen lips the color of plums.

“Judah.”

Her voice, soft, urgent, prompts me to look into her eyes, something I didn’t want to do for fear I might not be able to turn away. I might get lost there and forget half measures aren’t enough and do whatever it takes to get me back in her bed, back in her arms, back in her life.

“Yeah?” I ask, but I take a step toward the stairwell door, backing away from the precipitous edge. From a long fall.

“Once Adam’s feeling better,” she says, digging her hands into her pockets and staring down at her sneakers. “I thought maybe you could come over for dinner. You and the boys.”

I stop, staring at her lips even though they’re no longer moving, wondering if I heard her right.

“I know they don’t eat many things,” she continues, eyes still lowered. “But you mentioned they love your mom’s mac and cheese. Maybe I could talk to her and she could walk me through the recipe. I’m good at following recipes. I wanna at least try to—”

“You want to talk to my mother?” I demand, clarifying. “And you want us to come to dinner? At your house?”

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