jeans and a black t-shirt that made him look too hot for his own good. And mine. His arms filled the sleeves of the t-shirt and spilled out for what looked like miles. His facial hair was still unkempt, just like his hair.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I’m here to make things even,” he said.
“Even?”
He reached behind him and handed me folded up papers. “Here’s your story back.”
“You actually read it?”
“Of course I did. You brought me a story to read. Why wouldn’t I read it?”
“I, uh, sort of left in a hurry,” I said as I took the story from him. “I think I owe you an-”
“I’m not worried about it,” Josh said. “We were asking questions and pushing at each other. It happens.”
“It was more than pushing at each other, Josh.”
“I know,” he said with a grin. “But I wanted to keep my end of our deal.”
“Meaning?”
“You gave me a story. So now I’ll give you one.”
My hands instantly began to sweat. Like, that never happened. Staring at Josh was sometimes too much. The reflection in his eyes was of me as a young teenager, looking for him, needing him, feeling things for him that I wasn’t sure what they were. He always warned me to stay away but never told me why. And all that did was make me want to be closer to him even more. Somewhere in my head I thought and hoped he would be brave enough and strong enough to hurt my father if the time came.
And when it did…
“Hey, love, are you okay?” he asked.
I jumped. “Fine.” My eyes moved away from his. “I submitted my story to Bel. The lady who runs that blog.”
“A story about me?”
“About your artwork. About that night. That’s it. She wasn’t exactly happy, but it was something.”
“Are you going to keep writing for her?” Josh asked.
My eyes met his again.
Do you want to hear about the letter I found? About how I’m so obsessed with the letter? And there’s this girl or woman named Delilah that I can’t stop thinking about…
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” I said. “I don’t care.”
“What do you mean you don’t care?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, Josh. It’s…”
“It’s what?”
“Nothing,” I said.
I turned and walked away.
I should have known better.
Josh’s hands touched my waist and he spun me around. I stumbled back and bumped into the kitchen table, realizing there was nowhere left for me to go. Now, I could swing my hand, slap Josh across the face and run to my room, but I was frozen.
By his presence.
By his stare.
His hands touching my waist.
His body inching closer to mine.
I was captivated and hypnotized in a way that no other guy had ever come close to doing to me.
“Why don’t you want to write anymore?” he whispered.
“I gave you my story,” I whispered back. “Now it’s your turn. Then we can go back to me.”
“Maybe we can go back to you right now,” he said. “No words though. I’ll get a different kind of story from you.”
My lips trembled as he lowered his mouth down to mine.
As my eyes shut, I saw images flash of him carrying me to my bedroom.
Within that, all the things that were right and wrong with it collided.
Just like his lips and mine.
But the kiss - and everything else - was short-lived as the apartment door opened.
I hated having a roommate.
Grace charged through the apartment, completely disregarding the fact that I was against the table with Josh so close to me. It was obvious what was happening and no, he wasn’t checking my eye for an eyelash or something stupid like that.
When I saw Grace was crying, I put my hands to Josh’s chest and pushed.
He moved away and Grace finally stopped.
She straddled the threshold of the small kitchen and the small dining room.
“Nobody can see me like this,” she said as she stared down the hall. “In this moment of true weakness.”
“Grace, are you okay?” I asked.
“No. I’m not.”
I looked at Josh and I gritted my teeth.
He slowly nodded. He showed his hands and backed away.
I reached for him, wanting a proper goodbye.
Without a word, he took his cellphone out of his pocket and waved it at me.
I nodded to him.
A silent conversation.
And something about that was sexy as hell.
He snuck out of the apartment as Grace stood in the same spot, weeping.
And I mean weeping… like a bad actress in a bad play. Putting the back of her right hand to her