Page 62 of Chasing Hope

I’m screaming in earnest now.

“No!” Squirming, I try to break free from him. “Ahhh! Stop!”

Pulling back, both his hands land beside my head as he hovers above me, a glorious smile on his face.

One moment, I’m gazing up, our chests heaving, our smiles mirroring one another, and in the next, the lights go out, plunging us into pitch darkness.

Gasping, my hands instinctively reach out, clasping his hoodie.

“It’s okay, it’s just the storm,” Matteo whispers, his warm breath puffing across my lips.

The heat of his body warms mine and I find I’m selfishly pulling him closer by the grasp I have on his hoodie. My breathing grows heavier, more labored as Matteo doesn’t stop lowering himself until our chests brush.

It takes sheer willpower not to wiggle beneath him and moan. Every nerve ending in my body is on fire, my blood rushing in my ears.

I’ve never wanted to kiss someone as much as I do him.

I want it so badly I tip my head back and whisper, “Matteo?”

The lights choose that moment to flicker back on, revealing him an inch above my lips. His swallow is audible, his voice thick as he asks, “I thought you despised calling me by my first name.”

“Things change,” I breathe.

A noise whirls through the apartment, another thunderous boom sounding outside before the lights flicker and die once again.

“Patrick was right. The backup generator didn’t hold.”

“What a shame,” I whisper into the dark, my hand still clutching Matteo’s hoodie.

Why isn’t he kissing me?

The thought is sobering.

Forcing my hands to release their hold on him, I try to move from beneath him. “It’s getting late, I should?—”

“Don’t.”

I pause at the plea in his tone.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t push me away. Not again.”

A bucket of ice is thrown over my senses. He’s talking about the year he went away to college, but still, I whisper, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” he drawls. “But fine, we can pretend you suddenly have amnesia.” He blows out a heavy breath, his forehead dropping to mine. I close my eyes, savoring the feel of him above me, the feel of his skin against mine, his warmth cascading over me.

“At least eat with me?” he asks, and he sounds so vulnerable that I can’t deny him.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he breathes out.

The warmth of his skin leaves me, making a shiver of ice and regret snake down my spine. I at least have the mind to stop myself from begging him to come back.

A warm calloused hand finds mine, Matteo helping me stand and leading us slowly back down to the kitchen. Despite me not being able to see two inches from my face, Matteo walks the halls and stairs as if he’s wearing night vision goggles.

“Thank God we finished cooking before the power went out. I’m starved.”