She didn’t.
“You panicked,” he said.
Her treacherous mouth was so used to being honest with him, it said “Yep,” before she could stop it.
He smiled, and it was like daybreak. “Wow. Well. I had no idea I could make Abbie Farrell panic.”
Her stomach folded up like hopeless origami. God, she loved his smile. “Don’t get too excited,” she told him sharply, because nothing about this conversation erased her need for control. She wouldn’t be a dick to him, but she wasn’t going to let him look at her like that, either.
Didn’t he know how dangerous it was to look at her like that?
“But I am excited, Abigail. Because I know you well enough to realise that you freaking out always means something.” He was seeing through her again in that way he had, like her forehead was transparent and her thoughts were scrawled out in glyphs only he could decipher with just a little effort. “I told you I have feelings for you, and you flipped your fuckin’ lid. What does that mean?”
“Absolutely nothing,” she said firmly. “I’m not trying to belittle your feelings, Will, but”—I’m desperate—“don’t you think a friendship as old as ours should be protected from … heterosexual compulsions?”
He laughed, a low, comforting chuckle. “I love the way you talk.”
“Be serious.” Please. I’m not what you think I am. Abbie knew very well that she came off as cold, but the truth was she had always been on fire and would do anything to hide it. Releasing a little more warmth was a personal goal of hers these days, but if she went too far, she’d burn her own knickers off, and then where would she be? Knickerless in an Asda car park, that’s where. So she stayed strong.
Will sobered a little, because he always listened to her when it mattered. “Abbie, come on. The way I feel isn’t … whatever you just said. I’ve—” He hesitated, which was unusual for him. There was something like determination in his voice when he continued, “I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”
A while. But probably not twenty years. “This is the first time we’ve seen each other in forever.”
“I know,” Will said quietly. He didn’t add, When has time ever mattered between us? because they both knew it never seemed to.
“I was married before that.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. “I know,” he said, and she felt a familiar pit of guilt settle at the bottom of her stomach.
“And you’ve … you’ve never been attracted to me before,” she said, which was a lot easier to force out than some of the questions swirling in her mind. Questions like How long is a while? and How exactly do you feel? Questions that would show how much she gave a shit, that would leave her vulnerable, out on a ledge, revealed to him in a way she didn’t think she could bear.
Careful, careful, careful. She had to be careful. She knew very well how deep vulnerability could cut when it was thrown back in her face.
“How do you know?” he asked, his voice like midnight embers.
“Know…?” Her trains of thought were more like silk threads right now, slipping through her fingers.
“That I’ve never been attracted to you before? You’re very attractive, Abbie.”
“Well—” She swallowed. “Yes, I realise that.” She wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but she liked the way she looked, and plenty of other people did too. “We are both decent looking, and you enjoy women, and I enjoy men, and so it’s not surprising that this might happen, but in terms of actually being specifically attracted to me, it seems unlikely. Whereas you being generally attracted and currently horny is more—”
“Abbie,” he interrupted. “Careful. Or you might piss me off.” He was so close now that she could smell him, the scent that never changed, cedar and the strawberry flavour of his shakes. So close she could see the faint ghosts of his freckles, the glint of the fine chain he always wore beneath his clothes, the hint of humour in his eyes, and of frustration.
She glared, irritated. “I’m just saying.”
“And I,” he replied, “have no idea how we went from Will just wants to fuck me to Will barely wants to fuck me, but I’ve decided to ride this rollercoaster, so here we go. Right now, I am this close to poking you with my dick at the side of a supermarket like some kind of neighbourhood pervert. I am doing that, Abigail, because when I am with you, all I have to do is look at your face and listen to your voice and maybe smell your hair a bit, and suddenly it’s easier for me to get hard than it is for me to control myself. That is because I find you majorly fuckable, and actually, I think about your fuckability quite often, and always have, and probably always will. So yes, I am very specifically attracted to you.”
Abbie’s body was suddenly possessed by two very distinct desires. First, the urge to slide down the wall and crawl away, commando-style, from this conversation, because one of her key barriers had just been firmly eroded by Will’s matter-of-fact and incredibly arousing description of his attraction to her.
Second, the urge to grab him by the arse and taste that defiant lower lip, for much the same reason.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“Now we’ve got that settled,” Will continued, because Will was a smug prick, “I’d like to repeat that I’ve not been flirting with you because of your fuckability. I’ve been flirting with you because…”—he pressed gentle fingertips to her chin and tilted her head up, as if he knew she’d do anything to avoid his gaze right now and he was going to cut that shit out for her—“because, again: I. Like. You. It looks like that’s confused you, so let me explain. It means I think you’re great and I would like to take you places and give you things and watch TV with you and let you know how I’m enjoying my latest audiobook, and I would like to do all those things because you make my heart beat very fast just by saying my name.”
“Will.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like that.”
“I—you—you cannot be this straightforward with me,” she choked out, truth sneaking from her lips. “It’s very—unnerving.”
“Trust me,” he said, sounding unreasonably amused, “I’m doing my best here, Abs. I really am.”
No; he was making her want to feel things for him with her entire heart, instead of only a secret hidden part, and that wasn’t—it wasn’t right, and it wasn’t safe. He had no idea he’d brought a knife to a gun party, and if she slipped up and showed him all the explosive shit she was packing, he’d be overwhelmed and he’d back away and then she’d be left alone with oceans full of useless love—God, don’t say it, don’t think it—and he’d be gone before this thing had even started.