Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,33

daylights out of him. He definitely would have made some snide comment about Racer’s choice of attire and probably would have started a fight.

Angelo used to wear his jealousy like a badge of honor. He’d use it to keep me in line and blame me when men would stare.

Kit, on the other hand? I could tell he didn’t like Racer giving me attention, but he didn’t snap. He didn’t get mad at Racer. He didn’t get angry with me, either.

He didn’t do anything.

I used to think jealousy was flattering. I’d tell myself that Angelo got mad when other men looked at me because he loved me. I’d tell myself—or maybe he would tell me—that the best way Angelo could show his love was by being possessive over me in public.

Never mind the fact that he hated being out in public with me at all, though. Never mind that he’d be all over me when guys were around, but wouldn’t touch me if there was an attractive woman in the room.

When I see Kit’s non-reaction, I realize I was wrong. Angelo’s fits of jealousy weren’t a show of love. They were a show of ownership. It feels good to have a guy be okay with me getting male attention from somewhere else. It’s nice to see Kit noticed and wasn’t too happy about it, but he didn’t fly off the handle.

I shake my head, taking a deep breath to clear my thoughts away. I shouldn’t be comparing Angelo to Kit for a thousand and one reasons, the most important of which is that Kit and I aren’t dating.

Of course Kit isn’t jealous, because we’re not together. He can brush it off, because we haven’t done anything more than hug for a few seconds longer than strictly appropriate.

I mean, sure, I orgasmed while thinking of his head between my thighs. That doesn’t mean I’ve picked out baby names, or anything.

Still, it’s nice to know Kit can control his emotions. He’s secure enough to take me out to meet his friends, and he doesn’t need to act like an asshole to show me he’s interested in me. He just touched my knee, where no one else could see, and that was enough to let me know what he was feeling.

My heart thumps as my mind spins.

The past ten years of my life have been one big chaotic mess, filled with fear and insecurity. Simple kindness has me reeling.

When we leave the bar, I wrap my jacket around my body as Kit puts his hand on my lower back. I lean into him, inhaling the scent of musk and the smell of beer on his breath. We walk home in comfortable silence.

I surprise myself by thinking about his place as home. We’ve been there for all of twenty-four hours, and I’m already at ease there. I haven’t even unpacked everything, and I already feel like the guest bedroom is my own. I’ve walked into a friend group who didn’t blink at my arrival, and Kit has made the transition as easy as possible.

When we get to Kit’s house, I strip off my jacket and hang it up beside Kit’s. I kick my shoes off and pad to the kitchen, where Kit’s getting himself a glass of water. He hands it to me after taking a sip, leaning against the counter behind him.

I wrap my fingers around the cool glass, watching how his muscles strain against his shirt. How his pants hang low on his slim hips, revealing the waistband of his underwear. My breath catches as I crawl my gaze up to his face, lingering on his full lips.

“Kit,” I whisper.

“Yeah?” His eyes hang heavy. Maybe it’s the few drinks fuzzing our brains. The alcohol is singing in our bloodstreams, making us forget all the inhibitions that stopped us from acting on this attraction before.

But we’re alone now. I could erase the distance between us and press my lips to his. I’m sure he wouldn’t say no.

The tension between us is so thick it’s hard to breathe. Kit holds my gaze, sliding his tongue out to lick his lips. My ovaries scream in delight.

“Serena,” he whispers, saying my name like a prayer. His head drops as his hand moves to his chest. Kit’s palm massages his sternum as he frowns, finally dragging his eyes back up to mine.

“Yeah?” My voice is barely a whisper.

Silence hangs between us. Three feet of space separate us.

There’s an invisible wall, and we’re each holding a sledgehammer. I wind