Page 64 of In The Weeds
I hear footsteps down the hallway and the quiet click of a door.
I breathe out slowly.
“I like you, too,” I whisper to the dark kitchen. “So much.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BECKETT
I glanceat the closed bedroom door at the end of the hall for the fifteenth time since I stumbled out of mine, a headache pounding at the base of my skull. Less from the drinking, I think, and more from the wanting.
I had been so close to kissing Evelyn last night. At the bar, with her sunshine smile as Gus spun her around on the dance floor. In the truck, with her hand curled around the gear shifter and her hair falling around her face. In the kitchen, with my hips an inch away from hers, pink lighting up her cheeks.
I wanted to do more than kiss her in the kitchen.
“Shit.” I pull my hand away from the skillet and pop my thumb into my mouth, an angry red welt blossoming on the pad. I turn off the burner and glare at her door like I can knock the damn thing down with the force of my thoughts.
We need to talk about last night.
She said she thought about me, too. But that could mean a million different things. All I know is I can’t deal with this feeling that sits like a stone in my chest every time she walks into a room. I can’t see her in my flannel shirt—the bottom two buttons undone and the hem tied at her hip—and not feel something about it. We’ll talk about it, and we’ll clear the air.
Maybe then I’ll be able to breathe without wanting her so damn much.
I see the shuffle of feet in the crack beneath her door.
“Evie!” I bark, impatient. I’m making a scramble, goddamn it. She doesn’t need to hide in her room all morning. We’ve already done the awkward shit together. We don’t need to do it again. “I made breakfast!”
The door swings open and she appears, a scowl scrunching her nose. My gaze sweeps down from her shoulders to her long, long legs and my entire body tightens. She’s wearing the damn knee socks again, a creamy white against her dark skin.
“You don’t need to yell about it.”
And she doesn’t need to be temptation incarnate, but we are where we are.
I turn with a grunt and push the eggs around in the pan in an effort to keep my hands occupied. She makes me feel things I have no business feeling. Out of control, half the time. Out of my mind, the other half. I want to do a thousand different things, starting with my hands in her hair and my mouth on her neck—everything I thought about doing last night, when it was just us and the moonlight.
I’m clinging to the rope of my restraint and I can feel the ends starting to fray. Every look, every touch, every smile she gives me—it unravels a bit more.
“Would you like some breakfast?” I try again, a conscious effort to soften my voice into something gentle. It still sounds like a demand instead of an offer though, and Evelyn snorts a laugh.
“Did you mean what you said last night?” Right to the point, then.
I continue to poke listlessly at the eggs. The edges are starting to brown. I flick off the stovetop and rest the wooden spoon across the pan.
I like you so much.
“I did.”
I’ve thought about her every day since that morning I woke up alone, a storm thundering in from the east, thick gray clouds hanging low over the water. I’ve thought about the exact sound she makes when my body is over hers, the way her breath hitches and then releases, a breathy sigh around my name. I’ve thought about her laugh and her smile—prettier than all the wildflowers in the meadow and every star in the sky.
I feel a deep exhale against the cotton of my t-shirt, Evelyn standing at my back. “Are you still drunk?”
I huff a laugh and shake my head. “No.”
I wasn’t that drunk to begin with. Just loose enough for some of the desire rattling around inside me to slip through. Standing in this kitchen last night, I had swayed right into her space like I’ve been wanting to. My arms on either side of her hips, my nose at her neck. I wanted to kiss her more than anything. Almost did, too.
“Was it the alcohol?”
“That’s not how that shit works.” Alcohol doesn’t make things up, it just pries them loose.
