Page 47 of Practice Makes Perfect
“I don’t think so?” Linc says, but his voice rises at the end like a question.
“The sheets were covering most… parts,” I say. “Right?”
His shrug tells me he’s not convinced.
I groan, dropping my free arm over my eyes. The throbbing in my nipple is subsiding to a dull ache. “Well, I think we can file this under ‘mood killer.’”
“Should I…?” Linc gestures vaguely at my chest, like he’s wondering if he should kiss it better—which would be sweet if it weren’t also mildly horrifying.
“Absolutely not,” I say, half-laughing despite myself. “Your mouth has done enough damage for one night.”
His eyebrows draw together. “I feel terrible.”
He looks so genuinely contrite that I can’t help but smile. “I’m fine. Really. Just… surprised. And possibly traumatized. But physically fine. We should probably stop for tonight, though, and I need to have a very pointed conversation with Lea about the concept of knocking.”
“Right.” Linc runs a hand over his short hair, looking adorably flustered. “I should go.”
The reality of our situation sinks in as we both realize we need to get dressed, which suddenly feels awkward in a way that being naked together didn’t just minutes ago.
“I’ll, uh, turn around,” Linc offers, already shifting away from me.
“Thanks,” I mumble, surprised by his modesty.
As he turns his back to me, I do the same, sliding out of bed to grab my clothes from the floor. Then the absurdity hits me—we’re both naked, we’ve just had our tongues all over each other, and now we’re being shy?
It doesn’t make sense, but somehow I appreciate it.
There’s something weirdly intimate about watching someone put their clothes back on, like watching a magic trick in reverse. The mystery and allure disappearing beneath cotton and denim.
Or maybe I just don’t want to watch his gorgeous body being covered up—a visual reminder of what we’re not finishing tonight.
I pull on my underwear, then my leggings, feeling the ghost of his touch lingering on my skin. My body still hums with unfulfilled desire, but there’s something else—a warm comfort that settled over me while we were together.
Despite the disastrous ending, I felt safe with him. Comfortable.
“All clear?” Linc asks, still facing away from me.
“Yeah,” I say, tugging my sweatshirt over my head. “You?”
“Yep.” He turns around, fully dressed now, his hair slightly mussed.
An awkward silence falls between us as we stand there, neither of us quite sure what to say after such an abrupt transition from intimacy to… whatever this feeling is.
“Well,” I finally say, “that was certainly educational.”
His lips twitch into a smile. “Not exactly how I planned for lesson one to end.”
“Up until the screaming and the biting, it was pretty amazing.”
His eyes soften, and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I nod, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. “I felt… good. Safe.”
“I’m glad.” He smiles.
He steps to the door and pauses, hand on the knob. “Let me check if the coast is clear,” he whispers, opening it just a crack and poking his head out.
I stand a few feet behind him, hands twisted in the hem of my sweatshirt. The whole situation feels like a bad teen movie—complete with the roommate interruption and now the sneaking out. Except instead of hiding from parents, I’m hiding from my best friend who’s already seen everything.
