Page 12 of Bad At Love

“I’ve got you,” he said, mistaking her reluctance for fear.

“I know,” she said, wishing she could just tell him the reason for her strange behavior.

Maybe they could laugh over her one-sided attraction and sweep it under the rug? They were adults, weren’t they? And they’d been through so much together. Maybe they could even make one of those ‘let’s get together at sixty’ pacts. Hopefully, by then, her libido would have dried up and they could sustain their relationship without adding sex and her fears to the mix.

He clasped her cheek with his palm, his gaze searching hers. “What’s gotten into you today?” he said, frustration replaced by infinite gentleness.

She placed a hand on his chest, the nap of the wool soft to the touch. The steady thump-thump of his heart echoed through her, as if calling out to her own. “I couldn’t imagine life if I didn’t have you to catch me.”

“And who said you would have to?” he demanded, searching around him. As if there might be someone lurking behind the three evergreens in front of her townhome. “Let’s go in. A hot shower should set you straight.”

She groaned at the thought of hot water pounding into her skin, pulling the damp shirt from her chest. And then she jumped.

Her chest crashed into his as she landed awkwardly, breath punching out of her at the impact.

Not being a feathery, wispy thing, she almost took them both to the rough concrete.Almostbecause the man was as solid and rooted as an oak tree. Grunting, he tightened his arms around her waist.

The pizza box thumped to the ground, and the beer cans fell with a plop that matched Chaaru’s uneven heartbeat. She shivered at the drag of his hard muscles against hers.

Or maybe you’re shivering because that icy drizzle’s soaking through your shirt, you moron,piped up that sensible voice and Chaaru hugged it.

“I’m good.” Damn if her husky tone didn’t betray her. “You can let me go.”

For just a second, the flickering streetlight matched the indecision flashing across his face. His fingers on her hip tightened before he nodded and released her.

Chaaru rubbed her hand over her face as they walked up the three steps to the main door. The front porch was dark but there was enough moonlight to reveal the bench seat with three pairs of shoes tucked underneath it.

In the six years since she’d bought her home, they had done this same thing a thousand times over. Returned home from a friend’s house or one of Kaasi’s orchestra concerts or Maggie’s soccer games. But the little ritual felt different today, weighed down by undercurrents.

She pressed the code into the keypad and opened the door. They took their shoes off and slipped into the inside ones, DP’s gigantic pair right next to hers. The smell of fresh flowers, the one luxury she indulged in, and chocolate chip cookies she’d baked last night filled the open kitchen and living room.

Before she could figure out how to dismiss him without looking like an ungrateful bitch, DP popped a beer can open and took a long chug. His vest rode up, revealing his drum-like stomach liberally covered with hair. Heat prickled through her. Turning away, she poured herself a glass of water and drank it.

“I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His wide brown eyes gleamed brightly under the soft pendant lights he had helped her install.

“I should be the one apologizing-”

“Not that again.”

“Don’t brush it off. I shouldn’t have-”

“If we’re going to argue about this and you’re stubborn enough to drag it until we’ve examined every little thing about tonight, maybe you should change,” he snapped.

Chaaru straightened, staring at the strong planes of his face. She was stubborn. Of course she was. It was the quality that had saved her ass on more than one occasion. She also knew it bugged the hell out of her parents and sister. But DP had never used it like that against her, in that tone of voice.

Still, if he was frustrated about something, she’d bear his grumpiness without complaint. “I’m going to grab a quick shower,” she said, trying to sound like she wasn’t twisted up inside. “There’s some chicken biryani in the fridge.”

Something gentled in his face. “You don’t owe me a peace offering, Char.”

“It’s not,” she said, pointing to the narrow entryway. “I’m hoping you’ll help me lug that vintage full-length mirror I scored at a yard sale upstairs. Tried it myself and nearly threw my back out.”

“Still trying to prove yourself then?” he taunted.

“Actually, no. I value my body far too much to risk it. Especially my back. You know it’s my income source. But I…”

His mouth twitched, a wicked light making his eyes shine. For a second, she got lost in the aching beauty of it, at how perfectly that smile adorned her home. As if it belonged here, with her.

To her.

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