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“For what?” I croak, my voice not sounding like my own.

More like a fourteen-year-old boy talking to a pretty girl for the first time.

“For letting me crash here. For listening and not judging. For being a friend.” She lifts her eyes to meet mine. “I don’t have many of those these days. At least none around here. I could really use a friend right now.”

“I’m here for you, Wynter. Whatever you need. Whether you need to talk, or vent, or pretend my punching bag is Wyatt’s face and take out your aggression on it.”

She tilts her head. “You have a punching bag?”

I nod. “In the garage.”

“Good to know,” she replies but doesn’t make any move to put space between us. Instead, she keeps her eyes on mine.

I should walk away. It’s the smart thing to do. The right thing to do. But I can’t seem to make my body listen.

My hand finds her lower back, my thumb running along the small sliver of exposed skin at her hip as her gaze roams over my face. From my eyes. To my nose.

Then to my mouth.

Her lips part as she inches closer, the space between our mouths disappearing by fractions. I hold my breath, my heart pounding harder with every second. Then her lips brush the corner of my mouth. It’s a whisper of a kiss, but I feel it everywhere.

I could turn my head. Just a little. Lean into her. Press her against the wall and live out every teenage fantasy I’ve ever had.

Hell, every adult fantasy, too.

But she’s had a lot to drink tonight. I refuse to take advantage of her.

So I remain still, not leaning into the kiss, even though being this close and not kissing her nearly fucking kills me.

Eventually, she releases me and steps back.

“Good night, Joshua,” she murmurs, then disappears into the guest room and closes the door behind her.

I don’t move. Simply stare ahead as I try to make sense of what the hell just happened.

Wynter Hayes kissed me.

It may have only been a light kiss, but my body is on fire in a way I haven’t experienced in years.

Maybe ever.

When I’m finally able to put one foot in front of the other, I head straight for my en suite bathroom.

But not to brush my teeth.

Instead, I turn on the shower and strip out of my clothes, stepping underneath the stream to take the edge off the tension coiling inside me.

I only hope Wynter can’t hear me moan her name as I jerk off to the idea of doing a lot more than kissing her.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

WYNTER

My head hurts. And not a dull ache, either.

It’s a full-blown, someone-is-swinging-a-hammer-against-my-skull kind of pain.

I groan and curl into myself, squeezing my eyes shut against the thin sliver of morning light sneaking through the curtains as I try to piece together what the hell I did last night.