Here goes nothing.
I lean in quickly.
And I kiss him.
On the mouth. A straight shot that creates goosebumps down my arms, my lips soft and wet and yielding against his.
The soft moan that comes out of his mouth nearly floors me, reaching so deep down into the darkest corners of my very being. It fuels me, like gasoline to a fire. Dangerous. So very, very dangerous.
And then his mouth opens against mine, his tongue softly brushing against the tip of my tongue, and all my body wants is to throw restraint out the window.
Oh god. This kiss.
This is wildfire.
This could so easily consume us.
Until there is nothing left.
We’re going to fucking burn this world to the ground.
And there’s no better way to go than in the flames with him.
“Wait. I can’t,” he mumbles, pulling his mouth away, breathing hard. His eyes are laced with anguish. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“And you do?” I ask, my lips burning.
Creak.
The door down the hall opens, and we both break apart, no, crumble apart, like sand, and my roommate shuffles across the hall and into the bathroom, without even shooting a glance our way.
Now we’re left with the heavy blanket of regret as we both eye each other, our chests rising, hearts drumming, utterly aware of how wrong that was, aware that it should never, ever happen again
I want it to happen again.
Immediately.
And yet, the way Brigs is looking at me says he’s sad beyond anything, a potent mix of frustration and sorrow.
“I should go,” he says, eyes darting to the bathroom.
I know what I want to say, and I know I shouldn’t say it.
But still I do. “Are you sure?” I whisper. “You can stay.”
Brigs stares right at me—into me—and in his eyes I see a painful battle being fought.
“I have to go,” he says again, louder this time, as if he’s trying to convince someone else.
Now what?
“Okay,” I tell him. “You know I’m drunk, right? What I sent you…just file that under Tasha Being Drunk and we’ll be okay.” Suddenly some sober part of me wakes up, tapping me on the shoulder, yelling in my ear. I can’t ignore it. “I still have a job, right? I mean, I still want to work for you, and I promise I won’t kiss you anymore.”
Brigs gives me a half-hearted smile that seems more pained than anything else.
“You have a job for as long as you want it,” he says kindly.
“And the kissing you part?”
He nods quickly, looking away. “I’ll chalk it up to you being drunk and we’ll pretend it never happened.”
And even though that hurts to hear, to erase that beautiful moment, I’m relieved. I smile at him and awkwardly stick out my hand.
“Okay then, that’s great,” I tell him. “Thanks for coming by.”
He slowly arches a brow but puts his hand in mine and gives it a squeeze. He lets go and turns to open the door. Then he pauses and looks over his shoulder.
“You know,” he says. “Drunk or not, I can read you like a book, and I can’t say that about a lot of people. Not because you wear your heart on your sleeve, because you, my dear, don’t. I can only say that because I know a lot about you and I’m lucky enough to be one of the ones you share your true self with.” He pauses. “I hope that after tonight you don’t stop that.”
I swallow. “Even though my true self may kiss you inappropriately?”
“Even though,” he says with a nod. He opens the door and looks back. “See you on Monday.”
The door closes with a click that sounds too foreboding for this tiny flat. I exhale loudly and lean against the door, just as the bathroom door opens. My roommate totters across to her room without even looking my way.
As if I’m not here.
As if none of that ever happened.
But I know it did.
I can still feel his lips on mine.
CHAPTER NINE
Natasha
London
Present Day
“I don’t want to disappoint fate.”
I keep reading the line over and over again, refusing to let it sink in, refusing to let it get to me.
With anyone else, any suitor, I would have chalked it up to a lack of imagination or trying too hard in the Lord Byron department. But from the mouth—if not the keypad—of Brigs McGregor, I know how much it means.
Brigs was never one to believe in destiny or fate or anything he believed was out of our control. Even when our brief affair went from hidden to acknowledged, he thought he was in the driver’s seat every step of the way.
And I let him think that.
I let him because he was the one with the most to lose. He was the one with the wife he knew he had to leave. He was the one with the son he kept putting before himself, even when it hurt them both.