Everything Unexpected (6 page)

“The best,” I tell her honestly.

“Good.” She smiles.

A silence comes over us. Usually, if there is quiet between us, it’s never uncomfortable or awkward. But right now, I feel a different kind of energy. I can’t tell if it’s coming from me, or her, or the both of us, but it’s new. I try and think of something to break the strange mood but her next words only intensify it.

“Have you ever thought about it?” she whispers, glancing around as though she doesn’t want anyone else to hear.

I’m pretty sure I know what she’s talking about but I don’t want to make an ass out of myself in case it’s not.

I clear my throat. “Thought about what?”

She turns and faces me, her smile turning devious, calculating. “What Bryan said.”

Okay. So we are thinking about the same thing.

“Have you?” my lips curl into a smirk.

She slowly turns back towards the ocean, lacing her fingers together as she leans further against the fence. The wind blows her hair off her face and shoulders, exposing the skin it was just covering.

I can tell that she won’t answer first, which is unlike her. She’s always quick to blurt out her opinions and answers. But then again, we’ve never had this kind of conversation before. I take my fingers, placing them under her chin and raising her face back up to mine. With as much honesty as I can sum up, I go first.

“Yes. Obviously.”

She blinks once then opens her mouth. I can see her tongue peeking through the small slit but she says nothing.

We stare at each other, neither of us speaking. I have no idea what to do next. Should I push and ask her again if she has? Should I change the subject entirely? Have I completely made her feel uncomfortable now? My heart begins to beat a mile a minute but I haven’t moved an inch.

“Do you—” I start.

“Want to get out of here?” she interrupts, somehow completing the question I’m not even sure I was asking.

I blink twice, unsure of what’s happening.

Is she asking me to take her home or is she asking me to
take
her home? Her question is laced with different meanings and I have no clue how I should take it. Asking if I want to get out of here? What does that mean? How should I answer? Should I even
consider
saying yes if she’s asking what I think she is?

Thoughts and arguments for and against build in my head. The first being that this is Leah and if anything happened that might ruin our friendship, I would without a doubt be devastated. But then I let my eyes skim across her body as I’ve done so many times over the years. The same body that had me feeling so many things with just the simplest of gestures. It most likely makes me the stereotypical male because it’s those thoughts that win out.

I give her face another quick look, a chance to make her meaning clearer to me before I act.

And then, she bites her lip.

With that, I quickly turn and leave her at the fence, walking with determination to the side of the road to hail a cab. And by some miracle, one stops almost immediately. I turn back to find her right behind me. I grab her hand and nearly push her inside the car. I give the driver my address as the cab pulls away, leaving the bar, the party, and our friends behind.

I keep my eyes on the road ahead of us, too nervous to look at Leah beside me. In my periphery, I can tell she’s doing the same. I wonder now that we are both in a cab headed for my place, if the reality of this situation will finally hit us. Maybe we’re drunker than we think and only now our minds will begin to clear and be rational. Maybe in another minute, Leah will burst out laughing at the absurdness of this all. Maybe I will.

I take a breath and wait for that feeling to come. But it doesn’t. Five minutes into the ride, it still doesn’t. Instead, in those few minutes, I realize just how much I want this. My hard-on is screaming at me how much I want this. But only if she does. I finally turn to face her at the same time she turns to face me. I’m going to ask her, make sure she’s okay with everything that’s happening here. But the minute I open my lips to speak, they’re covered by hers.

IT TAKES EXACTLY two seconds for me to get over the surprise of Leah’s lips on mine before I tune in and take control. One hand immediately finds itself lost in her long hair, my fingers wrapping around hundreds of honey strands. It keeps her close, not giving her any leverage to move away. On instinct, I run my tongue over her bottom lip, coaxing her into allowing me entry. Pure impulse leads me to resting my other hand along her side, my short nails digging into her ribs, my thumb brushing over the side of her breast. All things I’ve done hundreds of times before with other women, but this time feels so much different.

She lets out a small, almost inaudible moan the minute our tongues meet. A sound I’m not unfamiliar with, but it’s like I’m hearing it for the first time. She sounds better than any fantasy I may have had over the last few years. Hearing it in a dream is nowhere near as good as hearing it in real life. I want—no,
need
—to hear it again. More than I need my next breath.

She lets out another sweet moan, sounding almost exactly like she does when she takes her first bite of dessert. Like she’s been waiting the whole meal for it. It’s a great sound—no, a fantastic sound. But one that reminds me of who just made it—and why. That I just stuck my tongue down my best friend’s throat.

I pull my lips away from Leah’s, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I rest my head against hers, needing a second to regroup. Never before has a simple make out in the back of a cab caused me so much affliction. Half of me is screaming not to stop, that her body feels too good, her lips feeling even better against mine. But the other half, the annoying sensible half, won’t stop reminding me of whose body I’m touching and whose lips I’m now craving. I swallow hard, releasing a shaky breath before I look back up at her face. Her eyes are still closed, lips slightly swollen and wet. The lip gloss she wore a little smudged. I lick my lips, wanting to see if mine taste like her.

When she opens her eyes, I prepare to see them filled with uncertainty and doubt—but I’m wrong. They’re filled with a look I’ve never seen come from her but one I know all too well.

Lust
.

“Shane,” her voice is soft and breathy. Her eyes scan my face, trying to understand my hesitation, the reason I pulled away. The reason that doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Any question or concern I had was answered the second she opened her eyes and looked at me. And she continues to answer me in the way she pants quietly, the rising of her chest in quick successions.

She wants this just like I do.

I pull her face back towards mine and kiss her again. I’m not shy about it this time either. I pry her lips open with my tongue, sweeping it across hers. Her breath is hot, smells and tastes faintly of citrus. She teases my tongue by sucking on it just like she did those lemons after the tequila shots. My mind reels, remembering it was just an hour ago we sat around that table, speechless at the mention of hooking up. Now look at us. Like animals in heat, attacking each other’s mouths with our teeth, tongues and lips.

“No boom-boom in the cab,” an accented voice speaks up.

We both freeze, startled by the interruption. Our attention shifts to the driver, who is staring at us through the rearview mirror, eyes wide and annoyed. I want to tell him this is Miami and worse things than kissing have probably gone on in the back of this cab. But I don’t want to embarrass Leah or bring attention to the fact
I
personally know just how much can be done in the back of a cab.

I release my hand from around her head, pulling away from her side. I lean back against the seat and take a breath, fisting my hands at my sides. From the corner of my eye I notice Leah does the same. I watch her as she leans against the sticky leather of the back seat and crosses her legs, pressing them together. My eyes become glued to her thighs. One long, tanned leg draped across the other. Her skirt shifts higher and I know if I were to move my head just slightly forward, I’d be able to see the color of her panties. The thought drives me crazy. I need to know. I pray for this cab to move faster so I can take her to my bedroom and find out.

Leah opens her window, letting the breeze come through. It blows her hair in my direction and I can smell her shampoo once again. I close my eyes and count to ten, knowing if I keep letting all my senses get wrapped up in her right now, I won’t last two minutes once we get inside my loft.

The cab finally pulls up in front of my building. I don’t even look at the counter, pulling two twenties from my pocket and shoving them in the driver’s hand. I open the door and watch Leah slide over the seat before taking my hand and getting out of the cab, slamming the door behind her.

As soon as the cab pulls away, we are left alone and the realness of what is happening looms over us once more. I don’t want to over think this all again. And I definitely don’t want her to either. I want to get back to the place where our mouths met and sweet little moans were the only sounds heard.

I reach for her hand, pulling her towards the front doors of my building. Relief swells up inside me when she doesn’t hesitate. We walk in, hand in hand, heading straight for the elevators. I live on the third floor of a five story loft building. The ride to my apartment won’t be long but it feels like it could be miles away at this point. As soon as the elevator doors close, I notice our hands are no longer intertwined and we are both standing on opposite sides of the elevator car facing each other.

I can’t remember the last time we’ve gone this long without saying a word. From the time we left the bar, only moans and a single call of my name has been uttered. It feels…not like us. I try and think of something to say, something that will bring us back to being Shane and Comb, but also won’t screw up what’s about to happen.

“Don’t over think this,” she says first.

“I’m not,” I tell her, almost as a reflex.

“You are,” she states. “Stop.”

I’m amazed at how calm and in control she seems. Her breathing has slowed from her earlier pants in the cab and the flush on her skin has nearly disappeared. My obvious nerves compared to her lack of any make me feel a little…inadequate. That’s not a feeling I’m used to.

The elevator doors open with a ding once we reach my floor. I extend my arm, letting her exit first. The words “to your left” almost escape my lips. But then I remind myself I don’t need to tell her which apartment is mine. She’s been here too many times to count.

I follow her to my door where she waits for me to unlock it. I fish out my keys from my pocket and let her go in first. She walks down the short hallway, flicking on the light switch from behind the kitchen counter, knowing exactly where to find it. It feels surreal, bringing a girl home who already treats this place
like
home. Knows where everything is, doesn’t take the time to wander around, mentally assessing all of my belongings.

Girls almost always stop in front of the far wall where six large, framed, black and white photographs hang, interested in what they are and where they were taken. Most are from my parent’s vacation home in Georgia. One is of the abandoned barn acres away from the main house. Another of a broken wooden fence, carvings of random numbers etched into it. Beautiful hidden spots I’ve found walking around the property.

But Leah doesn’t even glance at them. Why would she? These are pictures she’s already seen thousands of times before. She’s even been to these places in person.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to acclimate to this new setting. Usually I’d ask if they’d like a tour, show them around the loft before eventually leading them towards my bedroom. But this time I’m completely out of my element.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, pointing over to the kitchen, which is really just a long counter with a small island separating it from the living space.

Leah drops her bag on my gray sofa, next to the blue throw she bought to have here for when we watch movies. She turns and faces me. “No.”

Okay
.