Page 43 of No More Bad Boys
“Did I do something wrong? You’re really quiet.”
Now I look over at him, and the worry in his eyes makes me feel awful.
“No. I’m sorry. It’s me. I was just thinking. Sometimes I get a little too wrapped up in my own thoughts, and I’m probably not very good company.”
“No. You are. I had a great time with you tonight.”
“Me, too,” I respond honestly.
He hesitates before speaking again. “Well, I’m going to insist on walking you up—it’s not safe for you to go alone.”
“That’s fine—you can walk me up. I want you to.”
Some of the tension eases from Blake’s body, and he gives me a tentative smile. “Okay. Wait right there.”
He gets out of the truck and comes around to my door, opening it for me and offering his hand to help me down from the raised cab.
We walk up the sidewalk and climb the stairs in silence. I lead Blake to my apartment door. When we reach it, he finally speaks.
“Can I—would you let me hold you a minute before you go in?”
“You want a… hug? Uh, okay.”
That was not what I was prepared for. I step into his arms, and they go around me.
This isnota hug. Hugs are for toddlers and teddy bears and sisters.
The solid warmth of Blake’s body is amazing, both comforting and exhilarating. He holds me against him, stroking the back of my hair and down my spine again and again.
It’s not exactly a sexual touch, but it’s working for me anyway. Just as it always does around him, my body sparks to life, little fires igniting all over me.
After a few minutes, I lift my head from his chest, any thoughts of Troy and Ronnie long gone, no longer caring about logic and rationality.
I want Blake’s mouth on mine.
But he must think I’m trying to get away from him. He releases me and asks, “Would you tell me—I want to know… what you were thinking about in the car. Something bad? About me?”
He looks like he’s bracing for a damaging response.
“No,” I assure him, though I don’t really know why he seems so worried. I was thinking about how unreasonably attractive he is and whether I can let myself respond to him the way I want to.
“Something good?”
His tone is so hopeful it makes me think of a cute little boy asking for candy in the check-out line at the supermarket.
“Maybe,” I tease with a smile, and he smiles back.
“Good. Because allI’vebeen able to think about all night is how much I want to kiss you again. I was beginning to worry I’d never get another chance.”
Finally giving in to what I want as well, I step toward him, lift my face to his, and whisper, “Here’s your chance.”
Blake takes my face between his hands, his long fingers reaching almost all the way around my head as he maneuvers his lips over mine.
Unlike our last date when he kissed me in his truck, he seems to feel the need for caution tonight. His kiss is gentle, uncertain, not pressing, not pushing.
Not enough.
I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself tightly against him, my own kiss turning insistent.
