Page 59 of Triple Play
“Grant—”
“Two years.” His eyes search my face. Desperate. Hungry. “I’ve spent two years trying to forget that kiss. Trying to convince myself it didn’t mean anything. Thatyoudidn’t mean anything.”
“Did it work?”
“What do you think?”
My breath catches. “I think you’re very good at lying to yourself.”
“Yeah. I am.” He’s so close now I can count his eyelashes. Can see the flecks of gray in his blue eyes. “But I’m tired of it.”
“Then stop.”
“If I stop, I’m going to do something we both regret.”
“Like what?”
“Like this.”
He kisses me.
It’s not gentle. Not careful. It’s desperate and angry and two years of want crashing together.
His mouth is hard against mine. Demanding. Taking.
I should push him away. Should remember all the reasons this is a terrible idea.
Instead, I open for him.
He makes a sound low in his throat. His hand slides into my hair, tilting my head back. Angling me how he wants me.
I kiss him back just as hard. Two years of hurt pouring into it. Two years of watching him pretend I don’t exist.
His tongue touches mine, and I whimper.
The sound seems to snap something in him. He deepens the kiss. His other hand finds my waist. Grips.
This is what I wanted. What I’ve been wanting since that bonfire. Since before that, probably.
His phone buzzes again.
He ignores it.
Kisses me harder. Like he’s trying to brand himself onto me. Like he’s trying to make up for two years in two minutes.
My hands find his shirt. Fist in the fabric. Pull him closer even though there’s no space left between us.
His phone won’t stop buzzing.
Reality crashes back.
He jerks away like I burned him. Like my touch is poison.
We’re both breathing hard. His lips are swollen. His eyes wild.
“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked. “This was a mistake.”
The words hit like ice water.
