AllFreeNovel
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She tosses me a ball cap. “Put this on, think of it as a gift.”
“Nope.” I shake my head and try to hand it back to her. “I am not wearing a matching Yankees hat with you.”
“You are. People know you hate the Yankees, it’s part of your super cool K-pop profile, remember? Like one line down from your blood type?”
I lean in and stare at her lips. “Did you memorize it?”
“I’m a lawyer for your label, I have no choice but to know every single thing about you.” She shoves the hat against my chest, but I can tell she’s flustered. I like that. “Now put it on, it’s the perfect disguise, better than whatever the hell you have on right now,” She flips the black cap off my head. “I mean really? You just scream K-pop idol with your black mask and black hat. Well either that or serial killer.”
“I kind of want to kill you right now if I have to wear this.”
“See! I cheered you up already.” She laughs at me and playfully punches me on the arm before touching the hat in my lap.
I accidentally graze her hand when I reach down to pick it up and get caught staring down at our fingers. My blood rushes.
Touching her does things to me. It makes me lose all sense of logic. It makes me want to throw away everything I’ve worked for.
And just…
Be.
With.
Her.
I let out a breath. Damn. I have to get it under control. I focus on her hands instead. Not her lips. Just her beautiful hands.
Her nails are a perfect white. Her fingers, long and slender. Delicate and fragile, but I know she’s anything but. I just want to reach out and grab them and pull her into my embrace. But I can’t. She’s so close and so far at the same time.
Like she can feel my energy, the raging emotions percolating inside, she jerks her hands back and folds them demurely in her lap. Prim and proper like it should be. “Ready?”
I aggressively shove the hat over my head. “I swear if someone recognizes me in this I’m going to tell them you kidnapped me and forced your favorite baseball team on me when we all know the Red Sox are better.”
“Oh come on!” She slams the steering wheel. “This again?”
“Yes, this again, and you know it!”
Her smile is all I need.
It’s like an infusion to my soul.
But I don’t touch her.
I can’t touch her.
She’s not mine to touch.
Instead, I clear my throat and reach for the door. “What am I getting today?”
It’s a game we play.
She’s the one to tell me what’s important to me—what small object to put on my new sleeve—making it a crazy mixture of tons of different tattoos that make no sense to anyone.
Anyone but us.
It’s our secret.
And it’s as far as anything outside our friendship goes.
