Chapter 8
EIGHT
JUDE
I shouldn’t have drunk so much. After Char and I polished off the second bottle of wine, it seemed like the right idea to open up a third. But now I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling and thinking things I shouldn’t be thinking, and it’s all because of this stupid wine.
Or maybe it isn’t the wine at all. Maybe it’s her.
I’m too close to Char.
I’m not close enough.
She’s got wine all over her shirt, and I’m just trying to help her dry off, but my head is spinning, and I can’t think straight.
My entire body stills. Her stomach rises and falls underneath my touch.
“What’s with you spilling your drinks on yourself today?” I ask, my voice coming out far more hoarse than I was expecting.
Charlotte lets out a small breath of a laugh. “Apparently, I’m a mess.”
I smile and try to pretend that pressing my lips to hers isn’t every thought going through my mind.
I’ve never hidden my attraction to Charlotte.
She’s witty, incredibly smart, an amazing friend, and stunningly beautiful.
It’d be impossible not to be attracted to her, but I’ve learned to bury that attraction.
Sure, I’ll make comments here and there because I love to make her blush.
Sometimes making her blush is the only way I can tell if I have some sort of effect on her.
I love having proof that she isn’t completely immune to me, but never did I think we’d end up here, with my hand pressed against her stomach, feeling the proof of her reaction to our proximity with her sharp inhales and exhales.
“Char,” I whisper, my gaze flicking to her lips. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to her. If I have, it didn’t feel like it does now. The air around us is thick with tension. I feel like I can’t even bring air into my lungs because of it.
Her lips part, and her tongue peeks out the smallest amount. She wets her lips, and I swear my heart races so fast that it feels like it could beat right out of my chest. I blame the alcohol, even though it has nothing to do with the buzz I have from the wine. It’s because I’m drunk off Charlotte.
It’s dark in my living room; the only light we have is from the dim lights of the kitchen and the candle on the coffee table.
Her eyes are normally a stunning bright blue that reminds me of the sky on a summer day here in the Hamptons, but because of the lack of light in the room tonight, they appear darker.
“Jude.” My name comes out strained, and it might be the drinks playing tricks on me, but I swear she looks at my lips.
Does she want me to kiss her?
God, I really want to kiss her.
I know I shouldn’t.
She’s been upfront from the very beginning that nothing will ever happen between us.
But she’s also never looked at me like she was starving for my kiss.
“I…” My words fall off because I don’t know what to even say. Do I ask to kiss her? Do I tell her I want to kiss her? Or do I back away and let the moment pass and not risk messing up our friendship?
I’ve known Charlotte for almost a year at this point.
We’ve had drinks together plenty of times and been alone more times than I could ever count.
Never once has there been tension between us like there is right now.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol, the candlelight, or something else entirely, but all I know is for the first time in our friendship, I’m considering crossing the line that’s been drawn.
The resolve I’m desperately holding on to threatens to snap.
Instead of resting my hand against the wet spot on her shirt, I let the paper towel drop and fist the fabric instead.
My fingers latch onto the material tightly, and I toe the line by pulling on her shirt slightly, bringing her body closer to mine.
She doesn’t protest. In fact, she takes me by surprise by bracing herself with her hands on my thighs.
And then she looks at my lips again at the same moment a small noise of surprise—that sounded a lot like a moan—falls from her lips.
My resolve snaps. I lean in and press my mouth against hers. It’s so soft that our lips barely touch, but it’s enough to send shock waves through my entire body. Everything fades away with the press of her lips against mine.
I know I shouldn’t kiss my best friend, but I can’t think of anything else. I’m not thinking of the consequences. I’m not thinking about what happens after we kiss. All I’m thinking about is the desperate sound she let out and the hungry way she was staring at my lips.
I’m about to open my mouth and coax my tongue into hers when she tears her mouth from mine.
“Jude.” My name comes from her lips like a plea; I just don’t know what she’s begging for.
I hope it’s for more of what we just started, but her wide-eyed stare tells me that it’s probably the opposite.
“We shouldn’t…” Her words trail off as she brings her fingertips to her mouth and presses them against her bottom lip.
She sits back, and I take the hint to let go of her shirt.
I miss the warmth of her mouth, of feeling her rapid breathing under my touch.
I want to close the distance between us and kiss her again, except this time, I want to deepen it.
I want to figure out what she tastes like and discover what sounds she’ll make with my mouth against hers.
I want so much more from her, but the way she stares back at me tells me all I need to know.
I want more, and I can tell just by the look in her eyes that more is the last thing she wants.
I swallow, my fingers twitching at my side to reach out and touch her again.
Fuck, what have I done?
I close my eyes, trying to push the memory of her lips against mine to the very back of my mind. It was a terrible idea to want to kiss her. I know that, but it doesn’t change how, for a few perfect moments, the only thing I needed was to feel the press of her lips against mine.
When I open my eyes, I make sure to plaster on a smile.
It feels incredibly forced, but I hope she doesn’t recognize it as that.
I pick up the discarded wet paper towels before standing up.
I whistle, trying to come off as if I’m completely unfazed by what just happened.
My mind races with things I can say that can ease the tension as I try to find a way to pretend we didn’t just kiss.
“We were about to make things totally awkward between us, weren’t we?
” I laugh, trying to play it cool. I hope she doesn’t see right through my lie.
It didn’t feel awkward at all. It felt right, and the realization is jarring.
I try to push all thoughts of that away, knowing just by the look on her face and the way she keeps looking down at her lap instead of at me that no matter how right it felt for me, it didn’t feel right to her.
Me calling it awkward when it was anything but is just an attempt to make her feel better about what just happened.
Char looks up at me. She chews on her lip for a moment before plastering on her own fake smile.
“Yeah,” she mutters. I can’t help but look away from her blue eyes for a moment to notice the way she twists her hands in her lap before making eye contact again.
“It’s just the wine,” she offers, her words coming out so quiet I almost don’t catch them.
I nod. “Of course it was the wine. You and me kissing?” I force out a laugh. “That would be so weird.”
There’s no denying that the wine has gone to my head, but it hasn’t clouded my judgment in the slightest. Now that I’m being honest with myself, I still would’ve wanted to kiss Charlotte completely sober, but I’m not going to tell her that.
I can’t.
I clear my throat in an attempt to get myself under control. Standing up, I grab the dirty paper towels and walk to the kitchen to throw them away. “If you want to follow me to my closet, you can pick out a new shirt to wear,” I offer.
Charlotte nods before her eyes skirt over the coffee table. “I feel like I should help you finish cleaning up.”
I don’t tell her that I need to get away from the living room for a moment. All I can think about when I stare at the coffee table is the fact that we almost kissed in front of it. If we leave the room, maybe I’ll stop replaying the feeling of her lips against mine over and over in my head.
“The coffee table is fine. The only thing still covered in wine is you. Let’s go find you a new shirt.”
I walk to my room and hope that she follows. My head feels fuzzy, and I know it isn’t because of the wine. It’s Charlotte. Kissing her—no matter how brief it was—has unlocked something inside me. It’s like the floodgates have been opened, and now I can’t think about anything other than her.
I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know she follows me into my room. I take a deep breath as I turn on my closet light in an attempt to clear my mind of her.
When I turn around, it doesn’t work. All I can think about when my eyes meet hers is how much I still want to kiss her.
“Do you want a T-shirt or sweatshirt?”
The long pieces of her blonde hair cover her face as she looks to the ground. “A T-shirt is fine.”
I nod and turn around to sort through my T-shirts, trying to decide which one to give her.
Which one have I worn recently? I want to give her one that smells the most like me, although I won’t tell her that. It won’t smell like my cologne, but it’ll smell like my detergent, and for some reason, I’m crazy about her wearing anything that smells like me.
I pull a Pembroke one I know is freshly clean from a hanger and turn around to face her again.
“How’s this?”
Charlotte looks at the shirt. “Good.”
I nod and take a step closer to her. Now that we’re standing so close, I’m wishing I had turned more lights on in my closet. I only turned on the ambient lighting, and it makes things feel far more intimate than they should.
Or maybe the way she stares at me makes it feel intimate.