He made a noise as my fingertips moved on his cheeks, reminding me of his kissing feedback in Colorado. I like feeling your hands on me when I kiss you. Talk about a heady awareness.
The pillow was soft under my head as his body hovered along the length of mine, leaning over me, and it felt like his mouth remembered everything and picked up right where we’d left off on the pullout bed in Breckenridge.
His lips were warm, his mouth still sweet from the ice cream as he kissed me. It was slow and deep, catch and release, his tongue and teeth delivering kisses bit by bit, taste by taste.
I could hear the shake in his breath—it matched my own—as his hand released my hoodie string and braced itself on the floor.
The movement brought our bodies closer, put him more directly above me, and I liked it. There was something about the feeling of Charlie stretched out over me that hinted of things to come, things that thrilled me at the very same time they made me nervous.
I moved my hands, wrapping them around his shoulders, which brought his hand closer to me, so he was braced directly above me on his arms. He lifted his mouth off mine, and I opened my eyes, and Charlie looked hot, a lock of his hair hanging over his brow as his dark eyes blazed down at me.
The moment hovered, as if someone had said On your mark, get set, and then his mouth came back to mine, busier and more insistent. I ran my hands over his back as he kissed me, memorizing the muscular ridges of his shoulder blades with sliding fingertips.
Our mouths got hotter, our breathing more labored, as my hands trailed down to his lower back. I didn’t know how a lower back could feel sexy—intimate—when he was still wearing a shirt, but it felt full-on sexual as I ran my hands over the spot where he probably had those lower-back dimples.
I was basically panting as he bent his arms, dropping to what was essentially a plank—a plank that brought our bodies flush together. I could hear my erratic breathing—it sounded loud to me in the blanket fort—as I felt all of him against all of me.
I might’ve made a noise, and then he moved his mouth down to my neck, burying his head in the side of my collar. I felt his teeth and tongue on my throat, which made me rear up against him in shock, shock that brought our bodies back together with an electric current.
And then—
“We should stop,” he whispered, his breath hot in my ear, his teeth on my earlobe.
My eyes were heavy as I forced them open, and he looked like pure temptation as he stared down at me with brown eyes gleaming underneath disheveled hair, hair messed by my grasping fingers. I sighed out the word “What?”
His warm breath was on my collarbone as he said, “Last night was kind of emotional, and I don’t want it to feel like I’m taking advantage of that.”
“But you’re not,” I said, memorizing the feel of his body pressing mine into the floor, of our bodies together leaving an invisible imprint in the soft down of Charlie’s floor bed. “This is separate.”
“I cannot believe I’m saying this,” he said, his voice deep and scratchy, “but I think it’s best if we both get some sleep and revisit this another time with more level heads.”
He kissed me sweetly, dropping a peck on my lips that felt like an intimate promise, and I nodded. “You’re right.”
“God, I love when you say that,” he teased, grinning down at me.
“You just love me in general,” I teased back, lifting a finger to trace the curve of his hard jaw.
“Sure I do,” he said, but his grin slid away and he swallowed hard. “We should sleep now, Glasses. Reality comes in a few hours.”
“Yeah,” I said, a little uneasy with what I saw in his face, but then he dropped another kiss onto my mouth and moved so his arms were wrapped around me, my back to his front, and I told myself it was just sleepiness I’d seen. “G’night, Charlie.”
I felt his breath on the back of my neck when he said, “G’night, Bailey.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR Charlie
I heard her breathing slow and I knew she’d fallen asleep.
My breathing, on the other hand, was unsteady on account of the fact that my heart was beating out of my chest like I’d just sprinted a mile. Sleep was a million miles away from where my brain was right now.
My brain was beating the shit out of me.
What have you done? What have you done? What in the hell have you done, you fucking moronic dumbass?
I was fucked.
I was so fucked.
I was so fucking fucked.
Because Bailey was in my arms, smelling like heaven as she snuggled against me like it was where she belonged, and I ached for it to be.
God help me, I wanted to be where she belonged.
I wished I could bury my nose in her cocoa-butter hair and stay that way forever, wrapped around the one real thing I’d ever known, but I couldn’t.
My throat was tight as I lay there in the dark with her, giving myself ten more minutes before I had to get up.
Get out.
But when ten minutes were up, I gave myself ten more.
I was so fucked.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE Bailey
I wasn’t sure where I was when I woke up.
The fort threw me off, with the blankets hanging from above, but as soon as I turned my head and saw Charlie’s pillow, I remembered everything.
“Charlie?” I sat up, grabbed my phone—it was nine thirty—patted my hair, and crawled out of the fort. I didn’t see him, and it was quiet in the apartment. “Where are you?”
I peeked my head down the hallway. I didn’t want to bust in on him changing or anything, so I decided to get a glass of water. As soon as I stepped into the kitchen, I saw his note.
Had to run—just let yourself out.
What? I read it again, flipped the paper over, then wondered what that meant. Why would he leave without waking me up? And let yourself out didn’t exactly scream that he was buzzing over what’d happened with us the night before, or that he’d run to surprise me with chocolate doughnuts.
I sent him a text of my own.
I can’t believe you left me alone at your house, loser. ;）
I felt unsettled by his absence, but I was probably being paranoid.
I waited a few minutes, but when he didn’t respond, I put on my shoes and coat and I left. I had no interest in hanging out alone at Charlie’s mom’s apartment. It felt intrusive and uncomfortable, like I was just waiting to get caught where I didn’t belong.
But I realized when I exited the building—the building whose security door locked behind me—that I didn’t have a car. Holy crap—Charlie picked me up; how had I forgotten? I didn’t want to bug him, since I didn’t know where he’d gone, so I texted Nekesa instead.
Is there any way you can come pick me up? I know you’re grounded but if you tell your parents my car broke down…？
Nekesa: Your car broke down?
Me: No but it’s complicated.
Nekesa: Where are you?
Me: Charlie’s apartment.
Nekesa: Where is Charlie?
Me: No idea.
Nekesa: Oh God—I’m on my way. Drop me the address.
While I waited for Nekesa, my mind replayed the night over and over again. And I grew more and more conflicted. Because hadn’t we admitted our feelings? Hadn’t we moved toward something new?
So what did it mean that my texting buddy had yet to respond?