Page 25 of Spicy or Sweet
I feel out of my body, like I’m watching from a distance. I must be, because if I were truly present, there’s no way in the world I would lean in closer to her.
Shay pulls her lip between her teeth, and a soft “fuck” tumbles from me before I can stop it.
“Noelle,” she whispers, and it sounds like both a question and an answer.
My name on her lips shreds the final scrap of self-control I’ve been clinging to.
It happens in slow motion, and at lightning speed, all at once. My fingers slide back from hers into her hair, and I close the distance between us, pressing my mouth to hers.
It’s barely a touch; my lips brush hers for a split second at most, but Shay groans, and the sound strikes a match somewhere deep inside me.
What the fuck am I doing?
I jump back, putting three feet between us. Shay stares at me, open-mouthed, her hair mussed and her cheeks rosy.
“Noelle—”
“I have to go.” I don’t give her a chance to respond. I turn on my heel and run out of the kitchen faster than I think I’ve ever run from anything before.
I kissed Shay fucking Harland.
I amsofucked.
13
SHAY
What the hell just happened?
I stare at the open door long after Noelle runs out of the basement, my heart thumping. My body has forgotten how to move, like the feeling of her lips against mine has wiped every other memory clean to set up a permanent spot in my brain.
A gust of wind blows the door until it bangs against the wall, jolting me out of my stupor. I make quick work of packing up my stuff, stopping the B-roll recording on my phone, and locking up the kitchen.
Should I go after her? Reassure her?
I don’t even know what I’d say. And bolting like a bat out of hell is a pretty clear sign that Noelle doesn’t want to talk to me right now.
So I drag my feet across the street and up the stairs to my apartment. Cat is waiting for me, immediately winding between my legs and trying to trip me up. He almost manages, too, since I’m so utterly shaken by the past twenty minutes.
I feed him and drop straight onto the couch, rubbing my face with my hands.
Noelle is the first person I’ve kissed since my ex-husband. She’s the first woman I’ve kissed since before Georgie died. And it was…
Fuck.
I know I’m not straight, obviously. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it since Philippe and I got married, but every time I did, I pushed it down. What was the point in thinking about it when I was married to a man? If anything, I felt guilty when I did.
But I’m not married anymore. Of course, that doesn’t make it okay for me to be thinking about a woman sixteen years younger than me, but… I’m thinking about it.
I’ve never been kissed like that in my life. It lasted all of five seconds, but her lips were soft but desperate, and her fingers fisted my hair like they’d been doing it forever. It was a perfect kiss—or it would’ve been, if she hadn’t been so horrified with herself, and if it wasn’t ridiculously fucking inappropriate.
My phone feels like a lead weight in my hand as I unlock it and open my camera roll. I click on the last video and scroll through the B-roll footage, steeling myself before hitting play.
A groan falls from my lips as I watch the kiss.
On camera, it’s quick. One second, she’s hovering in front of me; the next, her hands are clenched in my hair. Then she’s gone, and I’m left standing there, stunned.
I slow the footage and watch it back so many times that I think it would be burned on the back of my eyelids if I could bear to close my eyes. With every watch, I remember the feel of her, the all-consuming ginger scent of her. I pick up on the little details: the way her hand flexes a second before she snaps, the way her eyes widen for a brief moment before she turns and runs… the way she stumbles at the door for all of a split second, like she’s considering doubling back.
