Page 35 of Sidelined By Love

I’m not going to kiss her or anything.

I just want another moment where we’re the only two people on earth.

Lying to myself is a dangerous business.

Too late.

Zoe’s tongue darts out to wet the corner of her mouth, and all I can focus on is the pink of her lips and their gentle curve. They can’t possibly be as soft as they look, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to find out for sure.

There’s a small tremor in her lower lip, one it would be easy to miss. But I don’t. Not when I’m studying her like she’s the key to winning every game for the rest of the season.

“Zo?” I’ve never called her by that nickname before, and I can’t explain why I do now. It just feels as natural as the two of us together.

“Yeah?” Her gaze doesn’t make it north of my mouth, but inside the sleeves of my sweatshirt, her fingers curl into my chest.

It’s not exactly an invitation, but it definitely isn’t a rejection, so I sweep my thumb across her cheek, under her eye. She looks up for a second, and our eyes lock.

It’s lightning and thunder at once, a summer storm over the Rockies. More than altitude ever could, this connection steals my oxygen, pulls me closer until there’s only a breath between us. The tug in my stomach urges me on, reminding me that we’ve been leading up to this for more than a week.

Every early morning sidewalk meeting. Every unexpected visit. Every flirtatious smile.

They were all so that we could make it here.

Slipping an arm around her tiny waist, I tug her a little closer until our bodies are flush, save her hands still on my chest. Her responding gasp makes me smirk, and I expect a playful smack that never comes. Instead, she snuggles deeper as I lean down.

Then I close my eyes.

And Tawna’s face flashes across my mind’s eye.

Chicken on a biscuit.

Stupid. Stupid. I never should have let it get this far. There’s never been any doubt that I’m attracted to Zoe. I have a pulse and a few brain cells, after all.

But just because I feel it doesn’t mean I have to act on it.

It’s called self-control, Red. Practice some of it.

I force myself to take a step back. “I don’t want to do this.”

Twelve

Zoe

Istumble as Grant lets go of me and announces he doesn’t want to do this.Hedoesn’t want to do this?

He started this! He’s the one being all sweet, getting me a sweatshirt that smells like him. Something deep and piney and clean. Like fresh mountain air with a spicy undercurrent.

Buthedoesn’t want to kiss me.

I force my face into a neutral expression, thankful for the acting classes that trained me to control my features—even when something goes wrong on set or stage.

And this is definitely wrong. Or at least unexpected.

Maybe it’s my wounded pride or my training, but something causes me to blurt out, “Well, it’s not like I wanted to kiss you either.”

Lies. All lies.

I wanted very much to kiss him. Still do. Even if I know it’s better not to.

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