It was ninety degrees outside. The sun was nearly set, and my air conditioning was still going at full force. I would be roasting in all the layers, but my reasoning was sound.
Namely, if it took me forever to get undressed, then I’d be less likely to jump on top of Damon’s glorious cock when he came through the door.
Didn’t stop me from taking it into my mouth, though.
Eden!
I stopped, shook my head hard, glad that my inner reprimand had been in my mother’s voice.
That was the surest way to douse any of my remaining desire.
Clothes, good.
Penis, bad.
Friends, good.
Anything more than friends—and that included fuck buddies—bad.
The doorbell rang.
I hurried from my closet and dashed down the hall, wanting to get as far away from my bedroom as possible. On second thought—
I ran back and shut my door.
Then turned toward the front of the house. Paused. Reconsidered.
“Shit,” I muttered and hustled back, opening the door and locking it from the inside then pulling it closed. I’d have to find the key later, the one that resembled a pin but with a circle on one end that I could shove into the hole in the knob to unlock it. Otherwise, I’d be sleeping on the couch.
I nodded with approval. Worth it.
The temptation would be locked away and I—
The doorbell rang again.
“Get it together, Larsen,” I muttered and got my ass to the front door. “Friends,” I reminded myself. “Back to friends.”
I sucked in a breath, mentally girded my chastity belt, and turned the knob.
Then was wholly unprepared for the gut punch that was Damon.
Fuck, I loved the way he looked at me, brown eyes warm, lips curled up just slightly at the edges. “Hi,” he murmured and fuck, but I loved it even more when he spoke to me like that, soft and gentle and sweet. His voice was like being wrapped in a warm blanket. He held up the box. “Extra garlic bread, as requested.”
All of my nervousness faded.
I nodded. “Thanks,” I said and added, “Want to come in?” when he hesitated on the threshold.
“You good with this?”
Concern in those pretty chocolate eyes and I mentally chastised myself again. I’d ruined the easy rapport between us. I’d known better and I’d still—
His fingers on my cheek. “Stop it.”
“I’m—”
Damon brushed by me, holding the pizza boxes aloft and stepping into the hall. I turned, saw he hadn’t stopped, was disappearing into the kitchen. With a slow, deep breath, I closed the door and followed him.
He’d put slices on plates and had the blue porcelain circles in his hands by the time I made it into the room. I saw him glance toward the kitchen table then hesitate.
I deliberately avoided looking in that direction because . . . well, because orgasms and sticky syrup on my skin, the sweet smell of powdered sugar in my nose. “My . . . um . . . the script is on the coffee table in the family room if you want to eat in there.”
A nod then he moved that way. “Any chance you can get me a glass of water?” he asked. “I forgot to pick up drinks.”
I moved toward the fridge. “Do you want a beer?”
“That would be great. Thanks.” He slipped through the doorway that led to the family room.
I was not going to make this weird. I was not. We’d forget about this morning, forget about last night, and—
“Don’t forget to grab yourself one,” he called.
That was enough to snap me out of my head. Friend. Be a friend.
“Do you want to run through the full script?” he asked when I came through with a beer in each hand, “or just the rewrites?”
I could do this. “All of it,” I said. “If you have time.”
He nodded, picking up the script I’d left on the table. “When does filming start?”
I plunked the beers down, grabbed my slice. “Three weeks, though we start rehearsals next Tuesday.”
“And it’ll be shot over at the studio?”
“Most of it,” I said around a bite. “We’ll also have a few weeks in New Mexico.”
We took a few minutes to talk locations and length, comparing notes about where we’d both been. By the time we’d both finished our pizzas, we were onto our second beers. He took a long sip of his. “I did a shoot once at White Sands. My model freaked out because she got sand on her skin.”
I lift a brow. “Seriously?”
His lips curved. “She didn’t like it when I pointed out that it wasn’t actually sand, but gypsum.”
“Smartass,” I muttered.
“Not disagreeing with you,” he said.
“But also, I appreciate your conviction to being scientifically correct.”
Damon laughed. “I’m glad you appreciate my dedication to learning.”
I snorted.
He chuckled.
We stared at each other for a long moment and I felt the past pressing on me again, sitting heavy on my lungs, tapdancing on the back of my tongue. I had to clear the air. I couldn’t—
“Don’t,” he whispered.
I stopped, stared up at him agape.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just—don’t feel like you owe me anything. Last night was . . . fucking fantastic, if I’m being honest, but being your friend is also fantastic and if that’s all we can be, then I’m fine, Ed. I don’t need more than you’re able to give.”
Soft. Sweet. Kind.
Damon.
I traced shapes in the condensation on the outside of the beer bottle. “I can’t be more than friends with you,” I whispered. “Last night was fantastic, but . . . I think you saw enough to realize that I can’t be in a relationship.” A beat as I met his eyes. “I won’t let myself go there.”
Damon studied me for several moments. “Won’t let yourself go there?” he asked. “Or let yourself go there again?”
My fingers froze mid-circle, and I forced my eyes to stay on his. “Again.”
Silence,
