Page 40 of Embracing the Beat
“I—I’m just not happy. I want to know what my options are.” Her hesitation still makes me wonder what she’s not telling me, but I know more than I did a few minutes ago, and I’ll take that trust and build upon it to get the whole story.
“Do you need my help?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”
“Would you tell me if you did?”
“Of course,” she says.
“Promise me.”
“What?”
“Promise me, Mikey. I’ll be here to help you if you need me.”
“I know that.”
“Promise me,” I demand for the third time.
“Okay, fine, I promise.” Her eyes meet mine, and it’s clear—she’s telling me the truth. “I guess I should let you eat your lunch.”
“Please stay. Keep me company. As for lunch, nothing fancy. A sandwich. Some carrots. A yogurt for my planning period this afternoon if I’m hungry.”
“Sounds very sensible,” she teases. “No dessert?”
Her question creates all sorts of images in my mind. Her spread out on my desk, my name breaking on her lips.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I would say I need to get laid, but that’s never been my style. I didn’t have a serious girlfriend in high school and dated Ashley all through college. But suddenly sex is the only thing I can think about. No, not just sex. Sex with Michaela. I’m in so much fucking trouble. How do I shake this? I’d ask Sawyer, but something tells me I wouldn’t get further than telling him I can’t forget the night I spent with his sister before he’d catch me with a right hook. My jaw aches as I picture the encounter.
“I have a bag of M&Ms in my desk,” I finally choke out.
“What kind?” Her eyes light up and she moves closer to my desk, giving away her plan, and I cut her off before she can open a drawer.
“Peanut butter.”
“Ohhh. Gimme.”
She lunges for my desk, and I put myself between her and my prized chocolate. The way she presses against me when she tries to reach around me gets a response from my body. A predictable, inappropriate response.
Best friend’s sister, I tell my dick.
Not like he’s listening to anything but the friction of her body against mine.
I clear my throat and sidestep, letting her have the candy she lifts in triumph over her head.
“Lunch,” she says happily.
“Mikey, candy isn’t lunch.” Why the hell am I lecturing her like a child? If she wants to eat candy, who cares?
I do. I want her to take care of herself. But if she’s not going to, then I will.
“Here,” I continue, pulling out a spare chair from a table and sliding it next to my desk. “We’ll share mine.”
I split my PB&J sandwich with her, ripping it apart since I don’t have a knife to cut it with.
“Thanks,” she says quietly before nibbling a bite off one of the ends. “I didn’t mean to steal your lunch.”
