22. June #3
My mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water as I try to justify my presence.
But it’s weird. Because…honestly, it’s a good question.
Why am I here? Why did I feel the pull to follow him into his room?
To check on him and to make sure he’s okay?
We aren’t that close. I mean, yes, he took care of me while I was sick, but does that mean he deserves the same treatment from me when the roles are reversed?
You know what? Yes. Yes, it makes sense, and shame on him for making me second-guess it.
“Because you deserve someone who…who cares and who looks out for you,” I argue.
“Is that what you’re doing, June Bug?” His gaze meets mine again before dropping to my mouth. My stomach tightens with…I don’t even know what it is. I’ve never felt it before. Not with anyone except him. “You should go back downstairs,” he murmurs. “Your boyfriend’s missing you.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Acts like it.”
“Well, he isn’t,” I repeat.
His chin lowers ever so slightly, and so does his gaze just like before. “So, you’re saying he wouldn’t mind?” he murmurs.
“That I’m talking to you?” I swallow. “No.”
Slowly, he lifts his hand and touches the edge of my jaw. “What about this, June Bug? Do you think he’d mind that I’m touching you?”
My skin burns from the gentle pressure of his fingers. It should feel relatively innocent. It’s a simple touch. Nothing overtly sexual or inappropriate or intimate, even. I fight the urge to shiver. To lean closer. To…
I swallow thickly. Again. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“That’s not an answer,” he notes.
What does he want me to say? That if Fireman Bryan walked into this room and saw me sitting on Ford’s bed with his hand on my face, he’d be okay with it? We might not be dating, but if the roles were reversed, I’d sure as heck be put off.
Or would I?
I imagine walking into a room and seeing Bryan with his hands on a random girl, the air crackling around them with chemistry, and all I feel is…relieved.
“Want to know a secret, June Bug?” Ford rasps.
The space between us shrinks with every passing second.
Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it’s only my imagination, and there’s still a solid gap between us.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me. The way he’s somehow managed to cast a spell on me, causing everything else to fade around us until there’s nothing left.
I’m not sure. All I know is that if he keeps looking at me like this, like he wants to kiss me, I might very well let him.
“If the roles were reversed. If I was your boyfriend. If I was downstairs, and you were up here, I’d be losing my mind. ”
Boyfriend? Did he just say boyfriend?
“You don’t do titles,” I remind him.
“Don’t I?”
I shake my head. “You sleep around—”
“I fuck.”
“You fuck,” I repeat, tossing his own word back at him. It sounds so crass, yet my core clenches nonetheless. What is wrong with me? “But you don’t do boyfriend,” I clarify.
“Haven’t found a person who makes me want to.”
“Look at you being honest,” I note. But also, what the heck is that supposed to mean? And is it hot in here? It feels hot in here.
The heat of his outer thigh seeps through my jeans, making me oh so aware of every inch where his body touches mine. I’ve never felt like this before. With anyone.
He hasn’t found someone who makes him want to take on the boyfriend role. Does that include the present? As in, right now? Me and him? Am I completely misreading the situation? Or am I so turned on by the idea of fucking him that we’re going in circles and I’m making connections that don’t exist?
“You want honesty, June Bug?” The question kisses my cheeks along with his warm breath.
My head bobs in the tiniest of nods. We’re so close. He’s so close.
“Been dreaming about what these lips would taste like since the moment we met.” The gap closes even more as he moves nearer until finally, his lips skate across mine, putting me out of my misery.
It’s softer than I expect. It really is only a taste.
Like he’s taking his time. Testing. Savoring.
No tongue. Just two pairs of barely parted lips, connecting like a couple of puzzle pieces, and boy, do we fit.
My eyelids flutter, and I return his kiss, my own reservations restraining me from deepening the kiss, no matter how curious I am.
Even if I refuse to admit it out loud, he isn’t the only one who’s thought about this.
About what it would be like to give in. To kiss Ford Harden.
To be the person he comes to. The person he’s honest with.
The person he trusts. Something burrows in my chest, igniting inside of me and spurring me on.
I tease the tip of my tongue against his bottom lip, careful not to hurt him on the off chance his mouth might’ve taken a hit during the fight, and I just can’t see the ache underneath.
Instead of pulling away, the innocent skate of my tongue against him pulls a quiet groan, and his fingertips press harder into my skin. It’s like he’s holding himself back. And all I want him to do is give in completely.
“June!” Bryan yells from the hallway outside Ford’s bedroom. I jerk away from Ford as if I’ve been electrocuted.
Holy…holy crap. What did I just do? What did we just do? Is the door locked? Did I lock it? I wouldn’t have. Would I? Maybe subconsciously, I came in here knowing what would happen. Or maybe—
“Not your boyfriend, huh?” Ford murmurs. His voice is low and gravelly and directly attached to my throbbing clit.
I lick my lips, caught between a rock and a hard place and logic and lust and morals and.... “I should go,” I whisper.
“Of course, you should.” His hand drops to his lap as the walls go back up. It’s like he’s cutting me off from the real Ford all over again, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.
Did I really just kiss Ford? And did Bryan really just interrupt said kiss? How did things become so…messy? And how do I clean this up?
Bryan’s footsteps disappear, sounding like he’s headed back downstairs.
My shoulders hunch in relief until I peek back at Ford.
“Run along now, June Bug.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “Hate to keep your boyfriend waiting.”