Losing It

Mmm. He tastes good. Like mint toothpaste and like Wes.

My lips part.

His tongue slips into my mouth. Dances with mine.

It’s aggressive.

But not like before.

More than before.

I break the kiss. Take a step backward.

My body whines. It doesn’t want to figure out what the look in his eyes means.

It wants him on the couch. In the bedroom. Against the wall.

Wherever, really.

Yesterday was a million years ago.

I need more.

I need him.

I need to know why he rushed over here.

“Uh…” I move to the counter. Fill the kettle with water. Turn it on. “I thought you had work?”

“Appointment was canceled.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah.” His voice steadies. “But it means I can be here.”

“True.” I swallow hard. Turn back to him. Force myself to hold his gaze.

There’s so much hurt in his eyes.

It’s not like him.

I want to ask why.

To soothe him.

To fix this.

How the hell do I handle this?

I have friends, sure, but we’re not close. We’re study partners or coworkers or yoga buddies.

No one spills their guts.

Or keeps my secrets safe.

Am I even capable of that?

It’s been so long since I’ve leaned on someone besides my brother.

And even then…

There are things I don’t want Owen knowing.

“Are you okay?” It’s not exactly poetic, but it’s all I’ve got.

“Yeah.”

I stare into his gorgeous blue eyes. I try to believe his words, but they’re so obviously bullshit. “You want something to drink?”

“You have rum?”

I shake my head. Bite my lip so I won’t blurt out oh my God, Wes, it’s so obvious something is wrong. Stop pretending. That’s above my paygrade. That’s girlfriend paygrade.

His gaze shifts to the fridge. “Wine?”

“Tea.”

“Sure.”

Right. I motion to the table. “Why don’t you sit?”

His voice drops to something low and demanding. “Was thinking I’d make you come first.”

My sex clenches. God, that’s a beautiful idea. His hands, mouth, cock…

Maybe I’m ready.

I want to be ready.

I want to know what it feels like to have someone inside me.

To have Wes inside me.

His eyes bore into mine.

But they’re not filled with desire.

More… desperation.

Like he can’t stand the thought of sitting here drinking tea.

And I’m pretty sure it’s not a preference for coffee.

“Wes…”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Are you—”

“Let’s talk after you come on my face.”

Fuck. My cheeks flush. My knees knock together. My body sings. Screams. Yes. Hell yes. All the yeses.

It’s tempting.

It’s really, really tempting.

The water steams.

I grab two mugs.

Fill them with tea bags. Then hot water.

Wes places his body behind mine.

Right behind mine.

He wraps his arm around my waist. Brings his mouth to my ear.

Fuck, his breath is so warm. He’s so hard. And safe.

I really do want to collapse in his arms.

But I have to stay strong.

“‘Cause I want to hear my name on your lips.” He nips at my neck. Softly. Then harder.

My fingers dig into the counter. “Wes—”

“Yeah, angel?”

“Stop.”

He steps backward immediately.

“I’m not your distraction.” I suck a deep breath through my nose. “If you—”

“That’s not—”

“Isn’t it?” I turn to face him.

“No.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Maybe.”

“What happened?”

“Shit.”

Again, I motion to the table. “We can talk over tea or you can leave.”

He shoots me fuck me eyes. “You sure about that?”

God no. “Yes.”

“It’s not—”

“Don’t.”

“I…”

“How do you want your tea?”

“Black.”

I nod sure.

He moves to the table.

I fix our drinks and join him.

His eyes bore into mine.

They beg for something. For everything.

It’s not happening.

I’m putting my foot down.

I’m capable of that.

“I like you, Wes,” I say.

His brow furrows. “I like you too.”

“A lot.”

“That’s a good thing.”

I shake my head. “We’ve had one date and I’m already—”

“We’re friends.”

“Are we?”

He shrinks back, hurt.

Or pretending.

He is a player.

I… maybe I should expect this.

Maybe I’m wrong about his honesty.

Maybe I’m completely unable to read men.

“I want to be your friend.” He wraps his fingers around his mug. “You’re… I like hanging out with you.”

“I do too. I just… I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”

“Sure.” His gaze stays on the table.

“I, um, I know you’re not doing this on purpose.”

His eyes fill with confusion.

“You’re not trying to use me. You’re just…” God, I don’t know him well enough to guess at this. “What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk.” His voice is soft. Hurt.

“Then maybe you should go.”

“Quinn—”

“I…” I don’t know what to say. Or what I want. I can’t demand more if I can’t handle more.

I want more of Wes.

But it’s a hopeless situation.

I leave in three weeks.

I start med school next month.

There won’t be any room in my life for him.

This summer—that’s it.

Okay.

I can handle that.

If he’s honest with me.

“What happened today?” I ask.

“Family shit.” He presses his lips together. “It’s fucked-up.” His gaze shifts to his mug. “We can talk.”

“Okay.”

“Later. I… I need something light right now.”

“I’m not taking my clothes off.”

He chuckles. “Figured.”

“Or taking your clothes off.”

His laugh gets louder. Heartier. For a second, all that tension fades from his brow. Then he blinks and it’s back. “I like you, Quinn.”