Page 41 of Silent Count
Okay, so as it turns out, the horny part of me is winning over the conversational one because looking at him in his tight-fittedshirt, which showcases his gorgeous body, is making me salivate … and not for food.
“Find anything in here to eat?” he asks.
I let out a shaky breath, completely surprised by my behavior. I don’t get shy around guys. If I want to hook up, I do. When I’m ready to walk away, I do.
Bo is just a guy.
So, why does he make my heart race like this?
“I think I can wait awhile. I’ll probably just go take my shower, if that’s okay?” I push off the counter and move to walk by him when he reaches for me.
“You okay?” He takes my hand in his and rubs his thumb over the top of it.
“Oh, yeah, I’m good. I’m a little tired, I guess. It was a busy weekend.” Maybe he senses my anxiousness, so I try to seem more relaxed than the butterflies floating around in my belly. I place my other hand on top of his. “Can I get a towel?”
“I set one on my bed for you.” He studies my face for a minute. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
As we look at each other, I think about what my aunt said to me this weekend about opening myself up to someone. For me, I think a lot of my reluctance or … I guess I’ll just admit it … my fear about letting myself be vulnerable or falling hard for someone is because my parents’ relationship was so volatile. They were fire and passion and drama and violence. They didn’t set a good example, so I don’t really know what a healthy relationship between a man and a woman looks like in real life. My parents were so consumed and obsessed—with each other and their addictions—that they couldn’t care about anything else. And I’ve never wanted to feel that … out of control.
But standing here, looking at this beautiful man, I make the decision that I want to try to let this,us, happen.
I release his hand, and in a bold move, I lean up and kiss his cheek. My lips linger seconds as I take in the salt of his skin and the wildly sexy smell of his sandalwood bodywash.
“Thank you,” I say as I pull back and lick my lips.
As I walk away, I can feel his eyes on me.
I grab some clothes and the towel from his room and then take a quick shower. I put on my favorite pair of loose cotton pants, a bra, and a nearly threadbare T-shirt. It’s one of my favorites, and I’ll keep it until it falls apart. My hair is wet, so I twist it into a knot at the top of my head.
When I’m done, I walk into his room and see him lying on his bed. He changed into gym shorts and took his hat off. It’s insane how I find him in a pair of mesh shorts so damn delectable. His feet are bare and crossed at the ankles. The TV is playing an NFL game.
He looks up, and his eyes widen as he takes in my T-shirt, which is quite thin, and there’s a solid chance my nipples are showing through. He takes a deep inhale.
I nod toward the screen. “Did you just get this TV? It wasn’t in here before.”
“I had it in my closet, but never set it up. I don’t know why I didn’t think about it until now. I should have connected it before the first night you stayed in here. Sorry about that.” He swings his legs to the side, and his feet touch the carpet.
“Oh, no worries. I didn’t really need one.” I’m still standing near the doorway, holding my things. I see he moved my bag to the floor in front of the dresser, so I walk over, bend down, and start to put my dirty clothes into my bag.
“You can leave your shower stuff in the bathroom. Noelle has some of her things in there. It doesn’t bother us. And you can wash your clothes from your trip.” He stands and walks toward me.
“Okay, I probably will, but I don’t want to deal with it today,” I say as I stand. “Did you eat something, or do you want to watch the game for a bit first?”
A curl falls out of my bun, and he reaches out to tuck it behind my ear, then rests his hand on my shoulder.
“Not yet. I’ll wait for you to eat, so just tell me when you get hungry.”
“Okay,” I say a little breathlessly.
There’s definitely tension in the air, heightened by the fact that I know we’re alone.
“Chelsea”—he leans in and traces a path down my arm to my hip—“do you know how bad I’ve wanted to kiss you since that first night in the hall?” He squeezes my hip. “Will you let me kiss you, Chelsea?” He presses in closer. “I can’t walk away again without tasting you.” He brings his hand up to my neck and wraps it around. “Just one kiss.”
“Yes.” The word is barely out of my mouth before his lips are on mine. But it’s not a rushed kiss. It’s slow and deliberate. Savoring.
I need more.
I lift up on my toes and wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him in closer. When I part my mouth for him, the kiss deepens, his tongue stroking mine, like he’s memorizing my taste, making heat simmer low in my belly.
