Page 74 of Ablaze

His exasperated sigh fills my ears as he comes to a stop in front of a room, taking out the key from its envelope.

“The favor extended to one room.” He opens the door and holds out his arm. “Get inside.”

I hesitantly step one foot in front of the other, taking in the small but comfortable bedroom as I wiggle out of my coat before my eyes land on the plush king-sized bed.

As in, one plush king-sized bed.

It’s not that I haven’t spent the night at Dean’s house before or even passed out next to him while we were watching movies, but actively sharing a single bed? That’s something we’ve never done and today, of all days, it just feels almost all too forbidden.

I turn to him. He hasn’t moved except to take off his jacket, but I notice his eyes are fixed on the same thing. “I can take the couch–”

“No.” His glare meets my eyes. “You won’t.”

My shoulders slump and I suddenly feel exhausted. Perhaps the anxiety of the past couple of hours is wearing me thin. Perhaps it’s the twist I’ve had in my stomach ever since I accepted the job, ever since I told Dean about my move. Or perhaps it’s the push and pull between us over the course of the past eight years–the push and pull that only I seem to feel.

Whatever it is, I don’t have the energy to argue right now.

I place my purse on the console under the TV before pulling my suitcase onto it. I unzip it to find my toiletry bag, a pair of sleep shorts, and a tank top. If I’m going to be stuck here with a fire-breathing dragon, then I’d rather be stuck wearing comfortable clothes.

Besides, it’s not like I have much more than a disgruntled, disgusted, nostril-flaring effect on him when I’m wearing anything besides my normal attire of sweatshirts and shorts. And frankly, it’s not my problem what he thinks about what I wear. If he has issues, he can shut his eyes.

I march over to the bathroom. “I’m going to freshen up.”

Once I’m in front of the large mirror, I place my face in my palms, barely holding back the tears. Why did I tell him what I did? It was so stupid.

“So fucking stupid,” I groan softly.

I hear Dean order us room service. He knows me well enough to know what I generally like to eat–burgers, fries, doughnuts, and pastries. Basically . . . the healthy stuff.

I avoid his stare when I get out of the bathroom. I find my phone and my book, and then get into bed.

He ambles into the bathroom a few minutes later, and I finally take a breath. God, this is so awkward. Should I just take back what I said? Can I even do that now?

Room service arrives fifteen minutes later, and both Dean and I eat our burgers quietly while I pretend to be busy on my phone. I try not to notice the way his undershirt spans across his chest or the way his legs look almost infinite and thick inside sweatpants with his station’s logo on them.

Gray sweatpants. It’s like he’s trying to be extra sexy just to rub it in my face that I can’t have him. Well, fuck him!

After finishing my meal, I scoot out of bed and shuffle over to the bathroom and brush my teeth, only to have him walk in and do the same. I rush through washing my mouth and get out of his way.

It’s still early–seven PM–but I’d rather just turn off my lamp and read on my Kindle. I scoot all the way to one side of the bed so he can take his pick of the other side or the couch. I’m not going to try to convince him of either one. If this is how he wants our last night together to play out, then that’s on him. He can take all that nostril-flaring and shove it up his butt . . . or his nose.

I’m just in the middle of staring at the same paragraph I’ve read for the tenth time when I feel the bed dip. The comforter shifts and I feel his presence at my back. My heart still aches and I just can’t do it anymore. I just can’t be the reason we ruined everything.

I turn to lay on my back and my voice wobbles as I speak. “I take back what I said in the car, Dean. Please.” Oh God, if it wasn’t enough that my voice sounds like I’ve been smoking, my eyes are now ready to flood. “I can’t stand it when you pull away from me. I can’t stand it when you’re mad.”

He’s quiet for so long, I wonder if he’s heard me at all. Could he have fallen asleep that quickly? “You think I’m mad at you?”

I place the heels of my palms on my eyes. “It sure feels like it. You haven’t said a word since . . .” I swallow through the thickness in my throat. “Just tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me for once how you feel, Dean. I’m fucking begging you.”

The movement is so quick, I honestly have no clue how he did it. One moment he’s on that side with a span of the bed between us and the next, he’s hovering over me. For a moment, I’m struck at the sight of him.

His golden hair hangs at his jaws. “You want to know how I feel?” He pulls down the comforter at my neck all the way to my torso so fast, I suck in a loud breath. Goosebumps fly across my skin, curling my toes as he makes a lecherous perusal of my body. “This is how I feel.”

His large palm spans my hip as his erection lays heavy between my thighs. And then his lips descend to press on mine.

For a second, I’m frozen, wondering if this is even happening. Has my love-starved brain actually made this all up? Am I hallucinating?

But as the synapses in my brain finally start firing, I come to, realizing that indeed, I’m kissing my best friend. Well, he’s kissing me at the moment, but that’s just semantics.

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