Page 56 of The Downside of Love
Shouldn’t this be wrong? Feel wrong?
But . . . it feels right.
And more importantly, when I turn to the side to take a look at Stryder, he’s happy.
That smile, so bright.
Those eyes, so joyful.
His soul, so present.
His heart . . . so open.
And that makes my breath hitch. This man is dangerous. But there is absolutely no chance I’m pulling away.
* * *
Silently, I brush my teeth, casually looking in the mirror at Stryder every few seconds. His gaze is trained on mine as we sneak glances at each other. We left the park right after Ryan and Brad got back from the beer tent. It was getting cold, and I was tired, so we packed up and took off, but not before Ryan gave me a curious glance. I ignored it—because to hell if I can explain what is going on—gave her a hug, and made my way to the car, Stryder once again carrying everything.
Now back at my place, getting ready for bed, I can’t seem to look away from him. Not just because I’m starting to see him in a different light, but because I have so many questions: starting with,what the hell was that back there?
Was that okay?
Is that what friends do?
Why do you make my stomach flip every time I look at you?
And most importantly . . .is it weird if I ask if we can do it again?
I spit into the sink and rinse my mouth, stepping to the side and giving him space to finish up as well. He does the same and wipes his mouth. I turn off the light and head toward my bed, but turn around before I climb in. “Thank you for tonight. I had so much fun.”I had more than fun. It was wonderful. I loved every moment, especially the ones I was held in his arms.
“So did I.”
For the second night in a row, he’s not wearing a shirt, just shorts, showing off the deep V of his hips and his impressive chest, cut and carved in all the right spots. It’s impossible not to stare, not to get my fill when he’s standing in front of me like that, proud and unabashedly confident.
I should give him a hug. I always do, every night before bed.Just walk toward him and put your arms around him. Simple.And yet, I feel so freaking shy about it. After the intimacy we shared tonight and him standing there with no shirt on, looking so damn sexy . . . I can feel a blush creep up my cheeks.
I’m nervous.
So freaking nervous, but if I don’t give him a hug, he’ll think something weird is going on.
This entire night has been a little eye-opening for me, a little scary actually. I’m feeling things I know I shouldn’t toward a man who not only is my ex-boyfriend’s best friend, but who has also become an important part of my life.
Stryder is no longer simply a person staying at my place temporarily. He’s become a staple in my life, a friend I deeply care for, and I can’t imagine what would happen if he left. This week particularly has been incredible. Seeing him every night. Eating with him every night. Hanging with him every night.Laughing, playing games . . . hugging.
I don’t want him to leave and go back to Ryan’s.
And now, as he looks at me with his expectant eyes, anxious and yet craving, I can’t stop myself from wanting more. I yearn to hold him, to bury myself in his arms and never let go.
I’m coming close to crossing a line, and I have a feeling if I give him a hug tonight, I’m going to have a hell of a time not crossing it.
“Well, have a good night,” I say, and instead of walking over to him to give him a hug, I awkwardly give him a quick wave. From the knowing smirk on his face and the way he’s sauntering toward me—all ripped and . . . and . . .God. . . and fine as hell—I feel like my wave isn’t going to do the trick.
And yes, I admit he’s fine.
Jet-black hair, chiseled jaw, a body to die for, and biceps that make you want to hang on to for a ride. He’s the entire package, and I tell myself there is nothing wrong with admitting it.
He steps toward me, and his masculine scent hits me first.
