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I don't even eat toast.
My skin prickles and singes and burns from the heat of his skin on mine. It's strangely mesmerizing, like flames devouring a dry, thirsty wilderness.
How did we get here? We went from ignoring each other for seven years, trading jabs, talking only when necessary, to...this? Whatever this is. This place where we touch and talk and share like we've been close all this time.
Maybe Mom was right.
Maybe this is too comfortable.
I close my eyes, decide I'll unpack all these emotions later, and succumb to the feather-light brush of his fingers against my skin. I want more of his touch. More of him.
I probably should stop this whole thing before it gets out of hand. But I don't. Because he makes me feel good. Makes me feel...wanted and desired.
I'm afraid to look at him, to acknowledge the sparks fizzling in the space between us, to admit I like the way this feels. So, I keep my eyes closed, try steadily breathing through my nose.
"I'm sorry," he says quietly, his words almost lost in the breeze wafting by. "I'm sorry I yelled at you. I had a really shitty morning."
My eyes open and I chance a look at him. He's staring at me, studying me. Almost as if he's waiting for me to tell him to get his hand off me.
But I don't.
My eyes bore into his chocolatey brown ones swirling with confusion, mirroring the muddled thoughts in my head.
I don't know what's changed. Why he's being so gentle with me now. Why I'm opening up to him. He's spent years annoying me, teasing me, frustrating me. We have one moment, me silently crying over a cup of hot chocolate, now everything is different. I just can't wrap my mind around it.
"What happened?" I ask, swallowing hard, trying not to process or over-analyze or think about where this is all going.
About him going back to Boulder on Saturday.
Back to all those experienced girls—women—at college.
Will this thing between us be over then? Do I want it to be?
Kyle's eyes flick from my face to the hair twisting softly between his fingers. "Matt and I got into it."
As his fingers coil and spiral and weave around my blond locks, his fingertips graze my scalp. A prickling sensation I've never felt before travels through my body, from the back of my head all the way down to my toes. I never thought someone playing with my hair could be this...hot. But I could decimate from the fire blistering under my skin. A fire he keeps stoking with each graze, caress, stroke of his fingers.
Tiny moves in my lap, resituates himself, then tucks his head under his fat belly. I put a hand on his course, furry back and try to keep breathing slowly. In and out. In and out.
"Wh-why?" I finally ask, trying to stay focused on the conversation, but failing miserably. He smells so good. That stupid cologne makes me want to lean into him, lay my head on his chest, and inhale his woodsy, expensive scent.
Kyle moves into the small space separating us, his chest flush against my shoulder, his body solid and firm as it molds itself to mine.
He leans his head forward, his lips grazing the shell of my ear. I almost come undone from the sheer pleasure of his mouth on my skin.
What would it feel like to kiss him? I mean, really kiss him. Not the fumbling and messy kissing I did with Matt. But, like, real kissing. Where he knows what he's doing and he teaches me the ins and outs of pressing our lips together, tongues colliding and, well, whatever else you do when you kiss.
I should definitely ask Fallon for tips.
I'm terrified he can hear my thoughts, see my heart pounding in my chest, feel the heat coursing through my limbs. I wrap both arms tightly around the dog in my lap and forbid my hands from reaching out to touch Kyle.
God, I want to.
"He told me I'm not allowed to touch you," he whispers in my ear.
I let out a small, nervous laugh. I like how close Kyle is to me. I like the way he's making me feel. So, so good.
But Matt.
