Page 26 of Center of Gravity
“It doesn’t mean you don’t, either.”
God. He was exasperating and irresistible at the same time.
“I’m not that much fucking younger than you. What are you, thirty-three? Thirty-five?”
“Thirty-seven, and it’s not just that. There’s a point where life stages matter, too. And you and I are in very different places.”
“I’m not trying to marry you, Rob, I’m trying to fuck you. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that.” The bluntness of his statement startled a chuckle out of me.
“It’s always more complicated than that unless I’m never going to see you again, as has already been proven. And right now,”—I glanced at my watch—“I’m due to see you again in a little over ten hours.”
“Then I quit.” He gave me a devilish grin. “Take me home. Except…I need the job and the money. Shit. Spoilsport.”
I gestured to the crowd. “There’s a whole sea of possibility there. Go find someone easy.”
“Punny.” He smirked, then added, “Tell me you’re not interested. Flat out. Just say it.”
“I should just go home.” I poured out the rest of my beer and stood, dusting the sand off my shorts.
“All right, buzzkill,” he said, taking my hand when I offered it to him.
He pulled upright, and it was predictable what came next. My body knew it, heat flushing through me pre-emptively, responding to the closeness of him seconds before he was in front of me. I had him by a couple of inches in height. That damn ring in his lip was too close and tempting, begging me to reach out and tug it the way I used to the rings on carousels when I was younger. The air around him was electric, snapping at the fine hairs on my forearms. And when he caught that ring between his teeth and looked up at me from beneath his lashes, I exhaled a slow breath. He knew what he was doing, and it worked. It would have been nothing to take hold of him and sink into his kiss, to feel how his mouth morphed and melded to mine, taste the sea air on his lips. My dick twitched and swelled while my conscience heaved a sigh. My feet remained solidly planted, though, and then took the step back I needed just as he leaned forward and left the barest impression of his lips on mine.
I took one slow, soft inhale. “I’m the chaperone, remember? I make smart decisions. Don’t be late.” Then, I turned and began to walk back to the boardwalk. I heard the smile in his voice as he called out to my back, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
* * *
Unsurprisingly,I dreamt of Alex that night in delicious, vivid fragments that overlapped the next morning. Stretched out in moonlight, shadows banding his abdomen, his mouth open and dark and warm on mine. The pressure of his tongue like a wave cresting, flits of silver and steel in my teeth. His fingers digging into me, the pounding of his heart like the pound of the surf beyond the window, and the salt of his body on my lips. My name caught in his throat, other collections of syllables pulled from the heavy air and tangled in moans as I exploded, comet-hot inside him. I woke to cold, damp sheets twisted around my abdomen.
I knew the air would remain charged with the electrons of that dream. I’d have trouble looking at him and trouble looking away from him, trouble focusing, or focusing on the wrong things, like the small dip in his lower back where I’d spread my hand the night before, or the small tent of jewelry against his T-shirt. And that damned lip ring.
On my phone were three missed calls from Sean and one voicemail. I sighed, swiping my thumb to delete it, and got up to make coffee.
8
Alex
Tom was nursing a wicked hangover, so after the first move of the day, he took the truck to the back of the office’s parking lot, cranked the A/C and laid across the seat to pass out before our next move while I hopped into Dad’s truck and headed over to Rob’s.
“Never let me drink another Mind Eraser,” Tom groaned as I left him curled on the seat.
I was a little foggy too, a headache pulsing at my temples. I’d chugged water and a half gallon of chocolate milk and, as promised, was not late.
Rob wore thin cotton pants and a T-shirt, and though he didn’t look hungover, he didn’t look as fresh as he usually did, either.
“You can’t be that hungover,” I greeted him as I pushed through the door.
Winslow came careening down the hallway, the scrabbling of his nails on the hardwood like a doggie version of a countdown to destruction. I shoved the door closed just in time. He barreled into my legs instead, and I stooped to give him a scratch that he danced through, turning in tiny circles upon the floor and making me laugh.
“I’m not.” Rob raked a hand through his hair. It was tousled from sleep and incredibly sexy. “I didn’t sleep well.”
“I slept like a fucking rock.” I’d spent another hour down on the beach hanging out with Jill and Emma, then cabbed it with Tom back to the apartment he shared with three other roommates and passed out on the couch.
I had a to-go cup of coffee from the convenience store down the street that I was hoping would get rid of my headache. I set my backpack down in the hallway while Rob’s watchful gaze circled me, like at any moment I might pounce him. I would have last night, but I’d been soundly shut down. I was persistent but not a glutton for punishment. At least when I was sober.
I lifted my coffee in his direction. “Sorry, I should have gotten you one, too.”
“Nah. Plenty in the pot,” he said, scratching lightly at his chest.