“I want to see you.” She couldn’t handle the dark right now.
He stilled. “Take my hand.”
Her fingers traced down his arms and his hand closed around hers.
“The light switch is upstairs. Careful.”
Her heart beat louder than their footsteps hitting the wooden stairs. When he reached the switch, the small lamp flipped on. An amber glow chased away the shadows and she remembered the first time he’d brought her there. Maybe they should do a shot of whiskey again.
The mood changed the moment he turned on the light. Maybe they ruined it. He led her to the small love seat near the many canvases stacked along the wall. She sat down beside him and stared at the drafting desk on the other side of the loft, suddenly convinced this was a mistake—too much of a delay.
“Hey.” He brushed his fingers along her jaw and turned her face toward his.
A shiver teased up her spine and she sat straighter. He looked into her eyes with that familiar blue stare.
She smiled, torn between an apology and a plea. “Hey.”
Tracing his thumb over her full lower lip, he whispered, “I wanna do this right, Maggie.”
She nodded. If anything happened, it needed to be right or she’d never get over her instincts that this might be wrong.
He slowly closed the distance, and her lashes fluttered closed. Soft lips pressed to hers, gentle and warm. His fingers slipped under her hair, gently teasing the sensitive skin at the back of her neck.
As his head tipped and his lips coaxed hers open, the warm trace of his tongue over hers sent a lightning bolt of awareness through her. It was both frightening and invigorating.
Her hand tightened on his shoulder, pulling at the flannel threads of his shirt. A spark of need jumped inside of her as her body reclined. Forgetting where they were, she eased back and let her mind slip away.
Her mouth grew bolder, remembering this familiar dance, and her body melted deeper into the sofa. Desire swelled inside of her as fingers glided up her neck. She mirrored his touch, teasing the scruff at his jaw and raking her fingers through his hair.
Warmth swirled low in her abdomen as his body ground into hers, rocking and pleading silently. Her senses came alive as his breath mingled with hers, his lips needy and wanting. Hooking her leg over his hip, she pulled him closer.
“Maggie…”
Her name was a song on his lips. His kisses so different from the ones she’d had before. She wanted to say his name back, but the kiss was too good to stop.
And while she didn’t speak it out loud, it rang through her mind. Ryan… Ryan… Ryan.
Nash. Her eyes opened and she stilled.
“What’s wrong?”
She wasn’t sure. She pulled back, but the sofa gave her little room to move.
Ryan sat up. “What happened?”
She shook her head. Everything had been perfect. It was her and Ryan. Just them. But then she was suddenly thinking of Nash.
Guilt poked at her like a glowing iron, but she shoved it away. She didn’t want guilt right now. Guilt had her in a headlock every other hour of the day. This was her time.
She tried to focus. “Keep kissing me.”
He leaned down, but this time when he kissed her something was off. He pulled away. “Let’s not force it.”
His words were thoughtful but they mostly made her feel like a failure. “I wasn’t forcing it. I was having fun.”
“Me too.”
But something changed and they both felt it. Ryan wasn’t an idiot. He could figure out what happened.
He sat up. She lay on her back, clothes rumpled, hair tangled, and her wool cap missing. Scooting into an upright position, she awkwardly searched for her hat and shoved it on her head. Silence.
“I’m sorry—”
“Did you eat—”
They both spoke at the same time.
Her brow creased. “I don’t know what happened,” she admitted. “I was enjoying everything and then my brain got involved and I panicked.”
He nodded. “It’s okay.”
But it wasn’t. She felt entitled to a few minutes of uninterrupted happiness. Shouldn’t choosing happiness be enough? Why was everything so damn difficult?
The longer they sat there the more certain she became that this was not how normal hookups went. Normal girls didn’t panic over making out. They didn’t take this much work. Who was worth that much effort? Certainly not her.
“I should go.”
He opened his mouth, appearing ready to object, hesitated but didn’t ask her to stay. “Do you have your bike?”
She nodded. “It’s out back.”
“I’ll walk you down.” Maybe he was being kind and noble, but it felt more like he was giving up on her. The sad truth was, she couldn’t blame him.
On the ride home she cried, but as she wept, she thought about a study she’d read about the shape of tears. A scientist examined various tears under a microscope and found that, like water, human tears take various shapes linked to the host’s reason for crying.