Page 27 of Stick With Me
We make our way through the crowded restaurant and step out onto the street, the beach stretching out across from us. Hannah grabs my hand and pulls me in that direction. I tighten my grip, not wanting to lose the connection between us. Her small hand in mine feels right.
The sun has long since dipped below the horizon, and the street lamps cast a soft glow along the sidewalk. As we drift further from the road, the moon takes over, offering just enough light to see where we’re going. We’re still a good distance from the water when Hannah plops down in the sand, tugging me down beside her, our hands still entwined.
“I’m sad you’re leaving tomorrow. This was such a nice break from reality,” she says.
“I’m going to miss you, but I’ll see you soon, right? This will be our reality, just without the beach and warm weather. We’ll brave the rest of the Chicago winter together.” I chuckle.
She looks over at me, her face partly hidden in shadows, but I can still make out her serious expression. “Yeah,” she begins, hesitating for a moment before continuing, “I have to tell you something.”
My stomach drops, and I can’t help but think of the worst-case scenarios. Is she going to tell me she’s getting back together with Knolls?Why is that my first thought?My mind circles with what-ifs—what if they reconnected, what if seeing him made her realize she wants to make it work, what if she’s not even coming back to Chicago? I brace for whatever she has to say. “Okay, what is it?”
“I’ve decided.” Another dramatic pause, before a smile overtakes her previous somber expression. “I’m moving in with you!”
“You scared the shit out of me.” My tense shoulders relax, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Fuck, I didn’t think this night could get better. Before I can second-guess myself, I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her waist and guiding her into my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck, holding me in a tight hug. My heart pounds rapidly, and her proximity has it pumping all the blood south. Luckily, Hannah is sitting closer to my knees than my groin, so she doesn’t notice.
Our laughter dies, leaving the sound of the ocean in the background. I feel her chest rise and fall against mine, the soft fan of her breath brushing my neck. A shiver runs down my spine, and I squeeze her tighter, hoping to mask it.
She pulls back just enough for our eyes to lock, our faces so close they almost touch. Before I know what I’m doing, I cradle her jaw, my thumb brushing over her cheeks. They’re warm under my touch, and whether the flush is from the alcohol or something else, I’m not sure. Besides my thumb’s lazy stroke, my body is so still it could be a statue, too scared to move and break the moment. One I want to linger in, yet desperately want to seize.
What would it feel like to kiss her? A thought I’ve had countless times over the years. Hundreds? Thousands? Millions? She answers my unspoken question before I can finish ruminating on the idea, closing the small gap between us until her lips are on mine.
Hannah fucking Clarke is kissing me.
I quickly recover from the initial shock, tilting my head for a better angle. My tongue licks across her lips, tasting the salty-sweet remnants of the margarita. When she opens for me and our tongues meet, I’m hit with the overwhelming urge to explore every inch of her. It’s not enough. I need more, craving her in a way that consumes me.
The sound of her breathy moan shatters any control I have left. My hands instinctively slide to the small of her back, pulling her body impossibly closer to mine. Every fantasy I’ve ever had about this moment, from the way her lips would feel to the heat of her body against mine, pales in comparison to the real thing. It feels like everything has fallen into place, as if, for once, the world is exactly as it should be.
Until she suddenly freezes, and when I realize I’ve dragged her right over my now rock-hard cock.
“Oh my God, what am I doing?” she whispers. She’s still on my lap but quickly scoots back, creating space between us. The look of distress on her face twists something inside me, and I hate that I’ve caused it.
I rub her upper arms, trying to soothe us both. “Hey, shh… What’s wrong?”
“I kissed you.” A confused furrow forms between her brows, and despite everything, it makes me smile. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Her words hit like a punch to the gut, wiping the smile from my face. “Why not?” I ask, trying to stay calm and not spook her further.
I can’t pretend to understand what she’s feeling. For years, I’ve imagined kissing her. For me, there’s no conflict or confusion.
“We’re friends.” She searches my face, though I’m not sure what she’s looking for.
“We are,” I agree.
“Friends don’t kiss.”
I want to tell her that we can be friends who kiss, that we can be more than that. We can be whatever the hell she wants us to be—just as long as I can kiss her again.
But if she’s freaking out over a kiss, I’m not sure she’s going to be receptive to more. I’ve been imagining it for years, but it may have only recently hit her radar. I can be patient.
“They can.” I force a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“I don’t kiss my friends. I just got out of a relationship. I’m supposed to be focusing on being independent, not kissing my best friend. What have I done?” she says, more to herself than to me, burying her face in her hands.
I want to erase the panic from her face, to make everything okay again. It kills me to know that I contributed to her feeling so overwhelmed. “I’m sorry. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I know you're still figuring out your plans for the future, and the last thing I want to do is add more stress. I won’t make it weird, I promise.”
“Why are you apologizing? I kissed you.”
