His jaw tightens. His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting himself. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
I open my mouth to say something, until I realize I have no words. The tension is nearly suffocating.
Until something in him snaps.
He closes the distance in one swift step and kisses me. It’s hard and desperate and...everything. His hands slide up my back, down to my hips, pulling me flush against him. I gasp into his mouth, fingers fisting in his hoodie as heat floods between us.
Everything about him is familiar and overwhelming all at once—his scent, his strength, the way he knows exactly how to touch me. It’s just like old times, and that realization makes it worse. I arch into him without thinking, a quiet sound slipping from my throat as his grip tightens, like I’m pushing him.
God, I’ve missed him.
When he finally pulls back, we’re both breathless, foreheads pressed together. Neither of us speaks.
The door opens, and Heather pokes her head back in, grinning. “Well,” she says. “I was wondering when that would happen. Should I, uh, leave?”
Jude laughs, stealing one last kiss before heading out. When the door closes behind him, the silence rushes in. I press my back against it, heart racing, lips still tingling when I bring my hand to them.
Heather watches me, her smile soft. “You love him.”
I glance out the window, watching the taillights disappear. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I always have.”
The house is quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge and the slow ticking of the antique clock on the wall of my bedroom. I’m sprawled in bed, still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The moonlight slips through the white linen curtains, painting my periwinkle sheets in pale silver.
I roll onto my side and pull the blanket up to my chest. My mind drifts back to the laughter, the dinner, the way Jude’s eyes swept over me before he left. I can still feel the warmth of his hands on my face, the rough edge of his stubble against my skin, the way my heart tripped over itself when he kissed me.
That kiss…
I sigh and glance at the window again. The moon feels impossibly bright tonight, as if it’s watching me. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, interrupting the quiet. A text.
JUDE
I’ve missed you. I can’t stop thinking about you. I want to come back right now.
My heart slams against my ribs. I glance at the clock.11:03 p.m.My fingers hover over the screen, trembling a little. I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. But before my brain can catch up with my heartbeat, I type:
Why don’t you?
The moment I send it, nausea wells up. The typing bubbles appear. Disappear. Reappear. I hold my breath. The air feels so thick I could choke.Oh damn. What have I done?I drop the phone onto the blanket and press my hands over my face, half-laughing, half-panicking. The image of his mouth, his voice, his warmth...it all crashes over me at once.
When I close my eyes, the memory rises without permission. The first time we ever crossed that line, back when everything between us felt new and beautiful.
~ A memory ~
The lock on my bedroom door clicks shut, a tiny, definitive sound that seems to echo in the sudden silence. My heart is already pounding against my ribs, a frantic little bird trapped in a cage of bone and anticipation. Jude turns from the door, and the sight of him makes me nearly breathless. I’m standing by my second-story window, hugging myself, remembering how he looked at me during dinner with my parents.
I almost melted into my mac and cheese.
Jude’s black T-shirt stretches tight across the defined planes of his chest and shoulders, and he runs a hand through his already tousled black hair. But it’s his eyes that hold me captive—hazel pools, usually so full of laughter, now dark with a heat I’m only just beginning to understand. He looks like a dream, a dangerous, beautiful dream I never want to wake up from.
“Your parents are definitely asleep?” he murmurs quietly.
I can only nod, pressing my lips together to keep frommaking a sound. The house is quiet, save for the sound of a YouTube playlist playing on a dark screen. My world has shrunk to this room, to the dim glow of my salt lamp, to him.
He closes the distance between us in two slow strides, not touching me, just...looking. His gaze warms my skin everywhere it lands.He wants to have sex with me.The thought is a lightning strike, terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I can see the desire tightening the line of his jaw, the faint tremor in the hand he brings up to cup my cheek. But he’s so careful and considerate.
We’ve never done anything really sexual before. The most we’ve done is make out. Our relationship bloomed through becoming best friends who kissed...a lot.But he never made me feel pressured to do anything more. Now I’m eighteen and I’m ready for...everything.
His thumb strokes my bottom lip. “You’re trembling, Em.”