I dug my teeth into my bottom lip. My heart pounded in my chest—the moment of truth, Lourde. Confess to your brother’s best friend your dream was about him or lie.
Screw it.
“I was dreaming it was you who was kissing me.”
He sucked in a lungful of air, his dark gaze unmoving. “Fuck, Lourde, don’t tell me that.” He rubbed his temples.
“Why not?”
His hand gripped the edge of the bed. “You know why.”
“I do.”
He got up. “No, please don’t go,” I said, pulling on his wrist.
He turned around. “Will you stay with me tonight? After what happened, I just can’t be alone.”
He looked at me, weighing my request. “We can stay in my room, and I can sleep on the daybed.”
“No, please, stay here?” I was already climbing to my side of the bed, hoping he’d follow.
“Okay, Lourde, just because of what happened tonight. No funny business.”
“Funny business?” I smirked at the term, my heart rate spiking off the charts. “Does anyone say that anymore?”
He climbed under the sheets, and his head hit the pillow. Turning to me, he said, “Obviously not.”
I rolled my lips together as silence fell between us. His gaze fell to my mouth, and at that moment, I could swear he wanted me.
“Good night, Lourde,” he said, rolling toward his side, giving me his back, putting distance between us.
Well, fuck.