Page 146 of The Lies We Play
Of course she does.
“Does Hal know?” I ask.
Her face changes, not with guilt, but with tenderness.
“No,” she says. “Not that I was coming here. Not this exact minute. But he knows me. He knows you. He knows what this is.”
“What is this?”
Her eyes search mine.
There are a hundred answers she could give. Desire. Timing. A mistake we will pretend was inevitable. A kiss that becomes another line and then another.
She gives me the answer that matters.
“Us,” she says.
The word is quiet.
It still fills the room.
I bend my head until my forehead almost touches hers.
“Baby,” I say, “if we do this, I need you to know it doesn’t take you or me away from him.”
Her breath leaves in a small rush.
“I don’t want it to.”
“And it doesn’t take me away from you.”
“I know.”
“You sure?”
She lifts her chin, offended and gorgeous. “I am overprepared, not confused.”
“There she is.”
“Don’t flirt with me when I’m trying to be emotionally mature.”
“That’s when you’re most gorgeous—and dangerous.”
Her mouth curves. Then the smile fades, not gone, just set aside. Her fingers curl into my shirt.
“I want you,” she says.
Simple.
No ornament.
No place for me to hide.
The want that goes through me is not clean. It is heat, hunger, care, fear, and something so close to devotion I refuse to name it yet. Naming it would rush it. Naming it would ask too much of the room.
So I kiss her instead.
Slow first.
