I shrug feebly.
“I didn’t kiss you because I’m drunk, Roman.” She lifts her cup—her full cup—and presents it to me, wiggling it back and forth. The liquid inside sloshes around. “I have a drink, but I’ve barely been drinking. Once I saw Kyle lurking from across the room, I lost my enthusiasm for being here. I wanted to leave but didn’t want to bother Eliza.”
That makes sense.
“Then why did you kiss me?”
“Because…I don’t know.”
Because Kyle is over there watching? I hate to let my insecurities get the best of me, but this is where my mind goes straight to. I’ve seen it in the movies enough times to know she was trying to get him off her back by playacting any actual feelings for me, any actual attraction. That’s fine. I’m here for that.
I’m her friend.
“Ahh.”
Was the kiss fake even though it felt real?
I won’t know unless I ask, and asking is out of the question.
I don’t have the balls for that—not right now.
“What do you want to do? Stay or go?”
“Leave. I want to go.”
“Home?”
“No, I want to snuggle up in your bed and watch movies…is that okay?”
I gulp.
“Of course that’s okay.” Because that’s what friends are there for—soothing and support. She’s troubled by her ex-boyfriend’s presence, and it’s my job to make her feel better.
10
LILLY
His lips felt like my mouth belonged there.
I touch a hand to them, the tingling sensation long gone but not forgotten. Swipe the warm, wet washcloth across my cheeks to wipe away the foundation on my face, rinsing my skin in Eliza’s sink.
I’ve pillaged her closet again. This new hobby of mine—taking clothes from her wardrobe to wear to bed with Roman—is becoming a habit, one I know she doesn’t mind.
That’s what friends do.
I would do the same.
I continue with my routine, washing my face and using Eliza’s skin care routine—all of her lotions and potions—watching myself in the mirror the whole time. I wonder what Roman sees when he looks at me, if he just sees the blonde hair and the big boobs or if he sees more.
That kiss tonight meant something to me, and I’m too afraid to mention it to him or ask if it meant anything to him. He did me a huge favor by showing up tonight and whisking me away when I didn’t want to stay at the party. It was comforting having him at my side; the conversation with Kyle didn’t last long, and that was because I wasn’t alone. He saw that I was coupled.
Kyle might be a cheating asshole, but he doesn’t like confrontation, and I am confident he’s going to leave me alone after tonight and won’t try to win me back.
I keep telling myself I want to be alone and unattached, however the shockwave that went through my body when I was kissing Roman says otherwise.
What was that? Clearly, I have been kissed before. Honestly, I’ve been kissed a lot—there was a time when I was younger when I thought physical contact meant someone loved me, so I dated a lot of guys and my lips are no stranger to that attention.
The difference being I’ve never been friends with someone first before kissing them, nor have I ever kissed a guy without their permission.
Oh Lord, what if he didn’t like it?
What if he was offended?
What if he feels violated?
All these questions race through my mind as I remove the mascara from my eyelashes, the horror of my thoughts wreaking havoc on my stomach.
Bracing my hands on the counter, I lean forward, breathing heavily. I’m going to have to say something when I go back into that bedroom, aren’t I? But what?
How am I going to apologize for taking liberties?
Ugh.
I procrastinate, applying lotion and creams and toners I wouldn’t usually use to waste time, embarrassed to go back into the bedroom with Rome. It’s also too late to go start a movie in the living room. I know Eliza and Jack will be home in a few short hours; I don’t want them to feel obligated to stay downstairs watching the television with me.
In my friend’s closet, I scrounged up a pair of cotton sleep shorts and sweatshirt; it’s appropriate night attire but somehow has me feeling naked. Over that, a thick robe. The weather is changing and it’s cold outside. My former roommate loves it chilly inside the house, so I did take a peek at the thermostat only to find it set at a chilly 66 degrees.
Brr.
Much better for snuggling, my dear.
I’m not going to address the fact that I could have gone to my own house but instead I came here—not to wait on Eliza and Jack but home with Roman.
Is it strange that I find comfort with him? That he makes me feel safe?
I don’t consider him a stranger any longer; I’ve spent enough time in his presence alone to know he is a wonderful human being who cares about his family and about me.