“What?” I toyed with the tip of a pen. “You scared?”
He looked only halfway joking as he replied, “Yes.”
I grinned, continuing to play with the pen, rolling it between my fingers. His gaze followed the movement, making my skin pull tighter. “I’ll be gentle with you,” I teased. “Promise.”
He laughed, but his eyes deepened to that dark sea blue I was becoming familiar with. It was that blue that made me feel all funny inside. Like I was dipping down on a roller coaster. His gaze dropped to my mouth. The sexual tension was thick. Choking me. God. He was close. Just a small stretch of table between us. This proximity was killing me. My lungs hurt too much to even draw a full breath.
I rose suddenly, picking up our empty soda cans. “Yeah. You should email me something. Or bring it with you on your next shift.” Or on our next sleepover.
“Maybe I will.”
I glanced back at his face and grinned, shaking my head as I rinsed out the cans for the recycle bin. “No, you won’t.”
He shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Fine. I won’t push.”
“Hey, I’ll make a deal with you. When you play your guitar for me, I’ll let you read one of my stories.”
My smile slipped and a nervous prickle swept over me. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh,” he echoed, nodding, his expression so knowing and smug that I had to say back to him:
“Maybe I’ll do that then.” A bluff, and from the glint in his eyes he knew it.
“Great. I’m working on a story right now about this girl that wakes up from a coma to find the world gone. Friends. Family. It’s like they disappeared. Or never even existed.” His fingers made a poofing gesture. I leaned forward, riveted by the idea of a girl waking to find her world gone. “There’s only one other survivor . . . this guy. But she won’t accept that everything has changed . . . that they only have each other in this new life.”
I leaned back against the sink, staring at him, hypnotized by his deep voice. “She’s probably scared,” I heard myself saying, sucked into the world of his story.
He angled his head. “Oh, she’s terrified,” he agreed.
I narrowed my gaze at him sitting so calmly at the table. Why was he looking at me so pointedly? Was he saying I was that girl in his story? I bristled, not liking the implication that I was terrified. Or of the analogy of me as a recently comatose girl.
“Sounds interesting. How does it end?”
“I haven’t gotten that far yet.”
My fingers tapped agitatedly against the edge of the counter. “Hmm. You’ll have to let me know.”
“I’ll do that.”
I glanced at the clock above the microwave. “It’s late.” I walked across the loft and plucked the throw and pillow off my bed.
“You sure you don’t mind me staying here again?” He moved to the futon.
I shook my head, smiling tightly. “It’s like having a roommate again.” God. Had I just compared him to one of my former female roommates?
As his hand reached behind his neck and grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one move, I swallowed a squeak and hurried from the kitchen to my bed. Yeah. There was no mistaking him for Em or Pepper.
Pulling back the covers on my bed, I couldn’t stop my gaze from straying to him again as he slid his jeans down his narrow hips, leaving him in snug boxer briefs, his male glory on display. He was a feast for the eyes. My hand dove for my lamp, twisting the knob and plunging us into darkness. I exhaled in relief. Out of sight if not out of mind.