Page 85 of Moonstruck at Midnight
William slowly placed his hand around my cheek, but I grabbed his hand and slowly took his hand down. I took a few steps back, still holding his hand and sat on the bed. I turned to my left and gasped.
“I thought you were going to miss it,” he said.
I released his hand and picked up the framed photograph he took of me on Midsummer.It looks great on my nightstand,he’d written. I was surprised to see it here.
“I’m many things, Guille, but I’m not a liar, especially when I joke.”
He threw himself back on the puff and grabbed his guitar.
Don’t you dare.Put that back!
I returned the framed photograph to its place and stood up from the bed. William grazed the strings once, then started playing a tune. A tune I perfectly recognized. Crash Into Me. Again, he sang the parts he found convenient to fulfill whatever intention he had in mind.
He stopped playing abruptly. “You need to touch your lips. Just like the song says.”
“No.”
“Touchyour lips,” he said, waving a hand slowly in my direction.
“I’m immune to your Jedi-hand wave.”
“I can assure you you’re not,” he replied. “Youwilltouch your lips.” He waved his hand again.
I laughed under my breath because I wasn’t immune to him or whatever he did. “Ugh.” I grazed my bottom lip with my thumb. “Like this?”
He bit his lower lip just slightly. “That’s the spirit.” He winked and continued.
I was finished. Done. Doomed. Ruined.
He was playing one of my favorite songs ever. He remembered when I told him on the rooftop. He could carry a tune quite nicely too.
He kept playing, and stopped again when he got to the part abouthiking up the skirt. But he switched it to robe. I laughed hard at that one. “You need to get with the program—hike up your robe.”
“You’re insane.” I pulled my robe up a couple of inches to reveal my knee. He laughed but kept playing.
William wouldn’t keep his eyes off mine, and I couldn’t look away, either. At one point, he threw the guitar to the side and darted at me.
He pulled me by my robe’s belt and kissed me. I was shocked with the eagerness with which my lips took his again. His tongue wandered lazily inside my mouth, incapacitating me completely from acting against my conscience. He walked back as he kept kissing me, but the bed was behind us.
He’s good—he knew what he was doing. He brought me up to his room with an excuse of a tour, wearing nothing but his t-shirt underneath the silly robe—that I was fortunate enough to find—and serenaded me with my favorite song. He had me well under his spell.
My mind drifted. Wondering how many girls he had brought up to this room, implementing the same modus operandi. The thought alone was enough for me to find the strength to pull away from him. Besides, after having showered and eaten dinner, I wasn’t feeling as drunk as before, only exhausted. That was helpful-ish.
“I’m sorry,” I said, breaking away from him, slowly this time, without fighting him, as I did before.
“You keep apologizing,” he replied, trying to kiss me again. I took a step back and pulled on my robe’s flaps as if they could close any more than they already were.
How to say it?
“So, is this your special place where you bring all the girls?” I guess that was a way to voice the discomfort associated with my assumptions.
Straight to the point.
“Oh,” he said mostly to himself. “Would it … make you jealous if I did?” he asked, entertained.
“Never!” I snorted with a smile, shaking my head.
Never … More like, always.
