Blind Spot - Katana Collins Page 0,51

Wilson was still hanging with Hemingway, and I was on my side, my legs strewn across Tate’s lap. His white T-shirt wrinkled around the waistband of his basketball shorts, and I barely moved for fear of waking him. His chest rose and fell with evenly paced breaths, and after another minute, I shifted, stretching my neck to steal a better glance at him. His face was relaxed, neck turned toward the television, and his eyelashes fanned over the tops of his cheeks. Full lips barely rested together in a serene pout.

When I dared to glance down, I saw his hand draped gently across my calf. My heart stuttered at the gentle splay of his fingers against my bare flesh. What the hell should I do now? Do I wake him up? Slip out and down to my apartment without saying good-bye? No…definitely not the latter. He would kill me. I glanced at the clock—it was only just past eleven. Not late by college standards. Guess the motor oil didn’t help keep us awake.

I pressed my lips together as his thumb moved in slow strokes over the back of my calf. Chills raced from the point of contact, up my body and torso, leaving tight nipples as evidence.

A breath dragged through my barely parted lips, and I wiggled my foot in his lap in an effort to wake him. I wished I were the fun, carefree girl who rolled with the punches and followed her instincts. That I could flip over and straddle his lap and claim his lips and body as mine. But that just wasn’t me.

His head was still angled to the side, eyes closed. But his hands moved, stroking my feet, giving me a massage.

“Having a good dream?” I whispered, sitting up.

He held on tighter to my ankle as though he didn’t want me pulling away from his touch. “The best,” he answered.

Finally, his eyes fluttered open, wandering over my face and finally settling onto my mouth. His smile widened as he leaned into me, sweeping his thumb against the side of my lips. Oh God, was I drooling? The panic must have been written all over my face because he laughed and shook his head. “I think Buddy was cuddling with you in your sleep. You had some of his fur on your face. Sorry about that.” He flicked a few strands of golden hair onto the floor, his touch drifting briefly to my cheek. I sighed into his hand, relaxed despite my highly aware state.

“Tate,” I whispered.

Those skilled fingers dragged from my cheek down my throat, finally landing at the back of my neck. “Hmm?”

“I thought we were taking it slowly.”

“That’s right.” He chuckled, stretching his arms overhead. The absence of his touch was cold and unwanted, and I wasn’t really sure what to make of those feelings. “So don’t you get any ideas.”

I sighed, propping my chin in my palm. “What did you dream about?”

“A man never reveals his dreams.” His dimple appeared again. After another second, it dropped. “Anyway, we should probably get you home, huh?”

Reluctantly, I stood up. Buddy did the same, jumping to his feet from where he had been sleeping at the foot of the couch.

Tate stretched, attempting to secretly adjust his erection before standing. I grabbed my things, flinging my messenger bag over my shoulder. “I hear cold showers do the trick.”

He chuckled, picking up the espresso cups and putting them in the sink. “Is that so? I haven’t had to take one of those since high school.”

God, this was awkward. Leaving without a kiss, after you’ve already kissed before. And when you both clearly want to. Why couldn’t I just get over my shit and date like a normal college girl? “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” I moved to the door, spinning to face him. “Why don’t we go together—?”

“Do you want a ride—?” he asked at the same time.

His smile was large, even though he seemed contemplative. Or maybe he was just tired. “I’ll come by at eight forty-five. Croissants okay for breakfast?”

I nodded. “They never get old.”

He curled his fingers beneath my chin. For a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me as he leaned in. I thought he was going to draw my chin close and press his lips to mine. And if I were being honest with myself, the thought of him doing that made me feel giddy. But instead, he reached beyond my shoulder, pushing the elevator button.

“Good night, Shelby,”