Page 38 of Down Bad

There’s this huge tree in the backyard.

One of its branches keeps tapping the roof when the wind’s all over the place.

But that’s not why I can’t sleep a fucking wink.

The tree is just easier to blame than Wyatt Callahan’s mouth.

His lips.

Which have been torturing me with every breath I draw in while lying flat on this unforgiveable goddamned bed.

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, jaw tight, fingers tightened into fists over my chest like I’m holding myself down.

I can still feel him.

Not just his mouth. His hands, too. One on my face, as gentle as an orchid petal, like I didn’t just creep onto his porch like a kiss-stealing monster in the night.

I didn’t have the balls to kiss him.

He came the rest of the way.

Kissed me first.

This is his fault, really. I would’ve backed away. Chickened out right then without knowing what his kisses tasted like. Felt like.

Without dreaming of them right now.

Wanting so much more.

Where else would his hands have gone, had I let him?

Did Wyatt want me before that moment on the porch? Has he been holding back? Or did I give him the idea of wanting me when I pinned him to the wall?

I want to go back over there right now.

Nail him to the wall again.

And do so much more to that man than rip his clothes off.

I shove my palms into my eyes until stars burst behind them. No, I scold myself. Stop it. That’s how it starts. You taste one thing. Then you want it all. Then you’re peeping out your window seeing if he’s awake every hour. Staring at a cursed orchid like it’s him haunting your dining room. Standing at the sink where a freshly-cleaned plate he gave you still waits to be returned to its owner.

The plate sits there on the kitchen counter, staring at me like unfinished business every time I pass it.

It’s just a fucking plate.

Not a debt. Not a message. Not an excuse to see him again.

Not a chance to accidentally kiss him again.

And to have my hands on him.

His hands on me.

Like my hands are right now, sneaking under the sheets.

Taking a handful of me.

Feeling it harden.