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“It will always matter who did it.”
“I understand that, but we can deal with it when we’re not in a life-or-death situation. Promise me.”
“I won’t try to find out who killed Liam.”
“You didn’t promise me you wouldn’t do anything stupid.”
He answered me with a tight smile. The weight of all the things that were unspoken between us pressed down on me. I couldn’t make another move until I cleared one thing up.
“Michael—”
“Em, I—”
“You go first,” I said. He had on a pale blue shirt, and the first few buttons were undone. A white T-shirt peeked out from underneath, and the collar was stretched just enough for me to see his collarbone. Something about it seemed so vulnerable.
“About last night,” he said. “Grabbing you like that was wrong. What I said to you was wrong.”
“No, it was right.”
He stared at me in surprise.
I stared at his T-shirt collar. “I should probably thank you for not using the way I felt about you to sway my decision.”
“The way you felt? You don’t feel anything now?”
“It doesn’t make a difference.” I wondered if he could hear me over my erratic heartbeat. Did I look as anxious as I felt? “You’ve made your boundaries pretty clear. And then there’s Ava.”
“Ava?”
“I mean, because of your relationship.”
He stood up and took a step toward me. “We don’t have that kind of relationship. She might want one, but I don’t.”
I stared up at him, my heart bouncing off my ribs so hard I expected to go into cardiac arrest any second. “You don’t? But you—she came to your room last night—”
“She’s been playing that game ever since she moved in here. Trying to convince me she was the girl for me.”
“Fun game.” I was caught somewhere between relief and fury, thinking back on everything I’d seen. Realizing how much of my jealousy I’d projected onto the situation. Feeling like a total ass.
“She never won.” He took one more step. “Never even got close. Ever since the day I got a voice mail and met up with a slightly older woman at Riverbend Park, the title of ‘my girl’ has been reserved.”
“So you like older women?”
He lifted his hand and gave his bedroom door a solid push. A soft snick told me it had closed behind me.
“I like you. And I see now that I should have cleared that up a long time ago.”
“This can’t be a good idea,” I whispered, not trusting my voice. Frozen. Afraid to touch him. Afraid not to.
Slowly, so slowly it made me ache, he placed one hand on the side of my neck, tracing the curve of my cheekbone with his thumb. I trembled. “I’m sorry. I want you to feel comfortable with me.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you shaking?”
Gathering all the bravado I had, I reached up to touch the center of his bottom lip. His eyes went dark with need. I moved to the slight cleft in his chin, wondering if the tiny prickles I felt came from his stubble or the ever-present electricity between us.
I got my answer when the lightbulb blew in his desk lamp.
