Page 94 of Unloved

Her eyes go wide and dark, pupils dilating in the shadowy light. “Is Tyler here?”

The question makes my stomach sink, flaring with a little leftover jealousy and heat from downstairs that hasn’t let go of me fully.

“Why in the hell would I invite your dumbass abusive ex-boyfriend to this party?” I grit out. “No. Tyler’s not here.”

“But… you’re.” She vaguely gestures to where I’m partially leaned against her, pushing her into the little hallway alcove leading to my bedroom. “You—”

I should focus on the fact that Ro believes every ounce of my affection for her has beenbecauseof Tyler. But I can’t.

“Were you gonna go home with Taylor Walker?” I blurt out, running my hand through my hair before licking my upper lip. I feel it tingle when I catch her watching the movement. My reflexive response is to watch her mouth right back.

“I think it’s the other way around.”

“Ro.” I shake my head, waiting for her eyes to meet mine. “Were you going to sleep with him?”

“No,” she replies, quickly but assuredly.

I nod. “Kiss him?”

“Maybe… yeah.” Her cheeks are flushed, making her tawny skin glow. The heat from the packed house mixed with the alcohol we’ve been drinking is making her straightened hair start to frizz, little waves forming around her face.

I nod again. “Okay, I can work with that.”

“What do you mean?”

My heart is in my throat, butterflies hammering my stomach—which has never happened before. I’m usually bleeding confidence at this point with a partner;thisis my comfort zone.

“Did you want to kiss him because you like him?”

I’ll back off, I swear to myself.If she says she likes him, I’ll let go of her.

She shakes her head.

“You just want to kiss someone?”

She nods.

The music seems louder, The Neighbourhood’s “Scary Love” is thrumming against the walls in a way that leaves me questioning if it’s from Rhys’s room or downstairs.

“If you wanna kiss someone, I’m right here.” It comes out breathy, but I’m smiling as my hand works its way up her side to rest against the right side of her neck. I lean in, skimming my nose along her cheek. “And I’m way fucking better at it than him. I promise, princess.”

Her tongue, cherry red from whatever fruity hunch punch drink she was sipping during our games, flicks out to lick at her plush lips. She bites down over the same spot—and I lose my slipping grip on my self-control.

I kiss her.

Despite the hard grip of my hands on her, despite the fierceness of my feelings for her and my racing heart, I’m as gentle with her as I can manage as I press my lips to hers.

I pull away, just barely, so our lips still bump and brush with the breath we’re sharing, my forehead pressed to hers.

“We’re friends,” she says, a little dazed. Her voice is shaky and breathy, gentle in the shared space. “Friends don’t—”

“Friends can do this sometimes.”

“T-they can?” Her hands timidly reach for me, until one grasps my forearm, the other sneaking up my bicep to the ball of my shoulder. I refrain from asking her to squeeze it—to press her pretty patterned manicure into my skin enough to leave a mark beneath the fabric of my shirt.

“Absolutely,” I say, pressing another kiss to her heated neck. “I’m so good at this, Ro. Please, let me show you.” Another press of my mouth. “Just a kiss.”

I wait only a beat, but it’s enough for her to nod before pushing up on her tiptoes to reach my mouth enthusiastically. It’s all the permission I need to wrap her up and haul her nearly into me, desperate for her warmth and the swirling coconut floral scent of her hair.

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