Page 13 of Summer Brew

“I do know I owe you an apology,” the sincerity in his voice almost brings me to my knees, but I force myself to stay standing.

“No,” my voice is hard, “you don’t. You don’t owe me a damn thing.”

“I do,” he leans through the window. “I kissed you and then I acted like a complete imbecile.”

“It’s fine,” my voice is flat and I take another step back.

As if he knows how tempted I am to slam the window shut again, Keaton puts both of his hands on the sill. Like I wouldn’t close the window on his hands? He thinks I won’t, but I’m strongly considering it.

“Don’t even think about it,” there’s a warning in his voice, but I’m not sure it’s one I’ll heed.

“You have no idea what I was thinking about,” I try and argue with him.

“As if I can’t see how much you want to slam my hands in the window,” he throws right back at me.

I do. I really fucking do.

“The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” my tone is defensive as hell, but I don’t care. “I did think about calling the cops.”

Suddenly, Keaton’s fingers grip the sill harder and he’s using his upper body to pull himself up and into my room. I stumble back as he tumbles inside my house.

“What are you doing?” My question comes out high and shrill.

“I’m climbing into your window to stop you from shutting me out and before someone else calls the cops,” his voice is firm as he stands up and brushes himself off.

“I wasn’t going to,” I try to argue with him, but the way he shakes his head tells me he’s not buying it.

And he shouldn’t.

“I’m not climbing back out,” he tells me in a tone like he’s negotiating something.

“That almost sounded like a promise.”

With my teasing words, all the humor drains from Keaton’s face. He steps closer to me and everything in me wants to step back. I force myself to stand still. His arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me flush against his chest.

“I hurt you,” his voice is a low rasp.

“I’m fine.” My lips press together in a thin line. “Really.”

“I hurt you,” he says it again as if I’ll be more likely to agree a second time.

I’m not.

“I regret what I said,” his voice is soft and coaxing.

When I arch an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, his face falls. “You regret kissing me,” I counter.

He sighs and shakes his head. “I don’t.”

My eyes narrow as I take him in, his features are a mask of disappointment and yearning. “You acted like you did,” I pout.

“I was a fool and I let my mouth get away from me. I’ve spent years staying away from you and telling myself it was the right thing to do, the only thing to do.” His words come out fast, like if he says them fast enough then they’ll make sense.

They don’t.

“You’ve spent years staying away from me?” The question comes out of me full of bewilderment.

I’ve been doing the same thing. As much as I almost let those words slip out, I keep them inside. Barely. While biting into my lip way too hard.