Page 56 of Stay With Me

As I pick through the flaxen strands, I remember Emily asking me years ago what my “type” was. She thought it was tall, dark or red hair, like the few women I’ve dated over the years. The truth is, those women weren’t my type, because I don’t have a type. I haveonewoman who I’ve not been able to get out of my head since I met her almost ten years ago and I dated women who looked as different from her as possible, trying to not think about her inthatway. It never worked. And it’s certainly not working now with her this close, her knees between my legs and my hands in her hair.

Shit, my hands—they’re no longer methodically picking through her hair for paint. Engrossed in my thoughts, I involuntarily transitioned to running my fingers through her hair.

“Charlie.” Her voice is quiet, warm. My name on her lips sounds like an invitation.

Startled, I start to remove my hands from her hair, but she quickly grasps one of my wrists, halting my withdrawal.

“Don’t stop,” she whispers.

My eyes dart to hers and the deep cobalt blue color captivates me as her gaze bores into mine.

“Sunshine,” I manage to grind out.

Her only response is to move forward, to the edge of the coffee table, closer to me. Not able to resist, I lift my hand that’s no longer touching her—the one that’s trembling just slightly—to her smooth cheek, cupping her face, and the trembling stops. Her hands move to my thighs, just above my knees, her fingers gently pressing into my flesh as she holds on to me.

We stay that way for several long seconds, staring at each other. But when she looks down at my mouth and a whimper escapes her, I lose what little control I have left.

I lean into her as if in slow motion, telling myself I shouldn’t be doing this, yet not able to stop. I lie to myself when I tell my brain it will just be one small kiss, just to feel the sensation of her lips touching mine again—it’s been so, so long. But, as soon as our mouths connect ever so slightly, all bets are off. My heart and brain are warring, but my heart is winning by a landslide.

Our lips hover over each other’s and I tenderly place a few feathery kisses along her mouth, her jawline. Just when I try to force myself to pull away, she raises one of her hands and weaves it into my hair, pulling me closer, returning my kisses with her own.

I bury my hand deeper in her blond locks.

On a faint moan that nearly undoes me, she opens her mouth slightly, and I take it for the invitation it is, allowing my tongue to enter her mouth, to explore and taste her. Her tongue joins mine in a tangled dance of affection and desire and we kiss like this for at least a minute or two before escalating passion turns it deeper, almost frantic with a need to get as close to each other as possible.

Emily’s hands slide further up my thighs, and it fuels my passion A third part of my body decides to join the fight for control as it twitches in my pants. It jolts me back to reality and I pull away—not abruptly but agonizingly slow—my heart screaming“No!”

I must wear an expression of panic on my face because Emily moves both of her hands onto my shoulders, as if to ground me.

“Charlie, it’s okay. I’m okay.” Her gaze is fixed on mine. “I wanted that. Don’t freak out.” The kindness and tenderness in her voice makes it worse. I fucking take advantage of her vulnerable state, a widow less than a year, and betray my best friend’s trust and she’s trying to make me feel better.

I remove her hands from my shoulders and hold them for a moment as I stand, pulling her up with me. I’m trying to act normal, like my heart isn’t racing and my brain going just as fast trying to catch it. I don’t trust myself to say anything about the kiss. Last time, on that Thanksgiving night, I hurt her with my words, and I don’t want to risk doing that again. But I need to get out of here—away from her and the yearning in me to kiss her again.

“I, um, I’ve got to get going. I have to go do a few things to get ready for the work week.” I avoid eye contact and drop her hands, moving a few feet away from her.

“Charlie, please. I know you and you’re spiraling about this.”

“No, I’m fine.” I rub my hand through my hair, then jerk it out, since she’ll know that’s a sign I’m uncomfortable. I make my way toward the door and when I turn back to face her to put my shoes on, her shoulders sag in defeat. My heart skips a beat, hating that I did that to her.

She approaches me slowly, like I’m a caged animal, which is probably what I look like right now. Without warning she wraps her arms around my middle and hugs me, then lifts onto her tiptoes and kisses my cheek.

“It’s okay. Have a good night.”

She steps back and I turn and walk out her door like the coward I am.

When I get into my truck and turn it on, I let my forehead fall forward onto the steering wheel. “Fuck!” I yell. Fury fills me, both at myself and at my situation.

Why did I have to be the one born into a family of fucked up men who ruin any woman they’re with? Why was I stupid enough to fall for my best friend’s sister?

CHAPTER22

CHARLIE

The satisfying crash of old bathroom tiles as they fall from the shower wall and break when they hit the floor echoes around me. I continue to chip away at each piece that still clings to the wall as I work on the demolition of my bathroom. I’ve gotten the upstairs bedrooms all painted, the floors done, and now I just have to do the two bathrooms. And starting with mine makes the most sense, since I’m the only one living here.

I need this kind of mindless, destructive work this week to help calm my brain. Kissing Emily last week was a huge fucking mistake. Not that I didn’t want it or didn’t enjoy it—hell it’s practically all I’ve been able to think about since it happened.

And I haven’t seen her since. Six days without seeing her shouldn’t have me so worked up, but I got used to talking to her almost every day and seeing her a few times a week. Until I went and fucked things up because I couldn’t keep my hands—and my mouth—to myself. We’ve texted a few times since, and she tried to play the kiss off as no big deal, but even our text communication is strained.

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