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Her expression twists into disbelief. “No way. It’s great here. Feels like home.”
“I know.”
Our eyes meet, and time stretches as we share a moment.
It’s like she’s sifting through my tangled thoughts of her, ofus.
“What were you thinking just now? Like, just seconds ago?” she probes, her tone light yet somehow serious.
Caught red-handed.
“Hmm.” I raise my brows in mock confusion. “I don’t remember.”
But she’s getting too good at seeing through my facade.
“You’re lying,” she declares almost gleefully. In an instant, she lunges forward and begins to tickle me.
“No,” I say, wriggling away from her grip. “Fuck,” I add with a laugh, but she’s quicker than I anticipated, squeezing my side.
“Tell me,” she insists, towering over me, her eyes gleaming with mischief as her assault continues. “Lexi told me Easton was super ticklish.”
Laughter bubbles out of me as I struggle to stop her. Somehow we trip and land on the floor. Carlee topples forward, landing squarely on my chest, and I break her fall. In that instant, I realize just how close we are. Her breath catches as sparks dance between us.
“I had to test the tickle theory,” she whispers, her gaze drifting to my mouth.
“And?” I reply.
Tension crackles in the air like static.
Just a couple of inches separate us, and I could capture her plump lips.
God, I want to do just that. So does she. I can see it on her face and sense it in her ragged breaths.
“Don’t,” I mutter.
“Why?” she shoots back. A teasing grin plays on her lips. “Scared you might like it?”
“Scaredyoumight,” I retort, as I settle my hand under my head.
The truth is, the image of us tangled together sends me spiraling.
“You say you don’t care about rumors about us but then get weird when I’m too close,” she says. Her voice carries a challenge.
I smirk, enjoying it. “I don’t wantyouto have regrets.”
With a dramatic roll, she flops onto her back beside me, and we both find ourselves staring at the ceiling. She bursts into laughter, and the warmth of it fills the room.
Carlee turns onto her side, and I turn my head to meet her eyes. My fingers itch to brush against her cheek. We’re so close that it would take nothing to slide my lips across her skin, to whisper tantalizing secrets into her ear.
The alcohol courses through me, heightening my senses and making the temptation more potent. I’m painfully aware of every ragged breath and movement, almost as if being pushed by an invisible force to cross the line.
Her cheeks flush, a vivid pink that tells me I’ve uncovered too much.
“Why don’t you just do it?” she whispers. “You want to.”
As her lips part, the atmosphere shifts; a charged current surges between us. I’ve always been transparent about my attraction, yet she’s never acknowledged she noticed until now. We’re dancing around the truth, spinning safely in the land of denial. Or maybe it’s just me.
“Fine,” she hisses.