Page 85 of Love Sick

“Hmm.” Her inebriated smile is both worrisome and charming. She ishammered. “Something happened tonight I wanted to remember, but now I can’t remember what it was.”

I laugh. “Was it the part when you jumped into my arms?”

An adorable crease forms between her eyebrows. “When the hell did I jump in your arms?”

We’re at a stoplight, so I stare at her. “Seriously?”

She blinks somewhere around a million times in four seconds. “What are we talking about?”

“Should I be worried about your hippocampus, Grace?”

Pleasure ignites her smile and her eyes glow. Her voice turns throaty. “You called me Grace.”

Holy shit.

She hasneverlooked at me like this. Like she somehow wants to wrap me in a gentle hugandfuck me hard.

I’m struck dumb and all the blood leaves my brain to pool below.I would spell your name over your clit with my tongue if you’d keep looking at me like that.

A horn honks behind us and I jump. The green light flares over her ecstatic face. I remind myself where I am, what I’m doing, and don’t dare look at her again until we’re safely home.

In the complex’s parking lot, she sways as she walks, her purple cloak sweeping the damp ground. Cold air laces around us, scented of woodsmoke and rain. The place is busier than normal, people in costumes heading to and from parties.

At her landing, she turns, leaving me a step beneath her. “Thank you, Kylo Ren. The First Order lives another day.”

The glimmer of humor in her hazel eyes makes me chuckle. “It’s Ben to you.”

She giggles. “You know, I’m finally running out of bad guys for you.”

I take the last step, crowding into her space. “Maybe you’ve just realized I’m not the bad guy.” I give in to the perpetual urge and let the soft waves of her hair sift through my fingers. Bending closer, I breathe in the soul-destroying fragrance of her skin. “I want to kiss you.”

Her smile stretches, glows. “It’s about time.”

Huh?“Have you been waiting for me?”

She gives a slow nod, still smiling. “I think about it way too much.”

I stare at her tempting mouth and the desire to close the distance nearly mauls my restraint. “Would you even remember it?”

She shrugs.

I can’t help the frustrated groan that crawls up my throat. “I really want you to remember it.”

Her tiny hum resonates in her chest, like a purr. “Then you should probably wait.”

A couple emerges from a nearby apartment and we move to let them down the stairs, ducking into a dark corner.

“If I wait, you won’t want it.” My fingers slide deep into her hair. “When you’re sober, you despise me.”

That’s not true, but I want her to say it. Admit it.

Tell me how you feel.

“You think so?” She touches my chest. “Then I guess you’ll have to work harder for it.”

Cocking my head, I meet her challenging stare. “You want me to work for it, Grace? I will if you can admit right now that you don’t hate me.”

A wickedness gleams on her face as she leans toward me, instilling a fresh shot of blood below. “If Sober Grace hated you, Julian, then Drunk Grace—” she takes hold of my hand, lifting it to eye-level as she weaves each of our fingers together “—wouldn’t want this gifted hand under her dress.”

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