“So we are still friends?” His voice is so soft and full of hope.
My gaze roams his face, lingering on his mouth a little too long. “Yeah, I guess. Not kissing friends, though.”
His silence forces my eyes to snap to his. “You don’t like kissing me?”
I groan and close my eyes. The image of us kissing, me unraveling as soon as his tongue touches mine . . . I like it too much, and it’s dangerous. “Your mouth on mine, us kissing . . . it’s like galaxies colliding and the world exploding into all these tiny stars—”
“So you are saying us kissing could end the world?” Why does he sound so happy?
My eyes snap open only to find him grinning smugly. “Wipe that grin off your face, and for God’s sake, stop saying that word.”
He laughs. “But I really like where this was going.”
How did we go from Eddie Menuek to kissing?
“And why were you staring at my mouth like you would rather do nothing else than get a taste?” His eyes narrow in challenge.
I sigh. I do want to get a taste, which is a very bad idea at the moment. Not when pieces of me are still scattered in every direction. “Because kissing you destroys whatever shred of sanity I have left. It’s what got you in this bed in the first place.”
He tugs my hand and holds my gaze for several seconds. “Come here. Lie next to me?”
The thought of lying with him makes my heart beat faster. But I’m on borrowed time. If I’m going to wiggle my way back into Father Foster’s good graces, I’d better be more careful. Knowing Sol, he’d give his uncle a hard time if he knew what was going on. I want to fight my own battles.
So I pull away and stand, because the more we’re skin to skin, the more I crave things I have no right craving. Not until I’ve earned the right to call him mine. “I can’t stay too long.”
“Why?”
Because I’m not supposed to be here. That’s what I want to say, but I can’t because Luke was right. I’ve caused so many problems already. I don’t want to be the reason Sol and his uncle butt heads.
“Mom’s expecting me at the diner.” I fold my arms around my midriff.
His eyes narrow with . . . suspicion. Why does he look suspicious? Did I say something wrong? “What time?”
I frown at him. “Huh?”
“What time do you have to be at the diner?”
“Um, I’m closing today.”
He watches me for several seconds, and I try not to shift nervously. “Did my uncle say something to you?”
“What? No. Why would you think that?” My voice is squeaky, and I’m starting to sweat.
He nods to my waist. “The way you’re hugging your waist. Plus, you keep shifting from foot to foot like you need to use the bathroom.”
Shit. I didn’t even notice I was doing the latter. It’s amazing how he can easily point out my tells.
I shake my head adamantly. “He didn’t say anything. We’re good, I promise.”
“Bullshit. Luke already told me.”
My eyes widen. “He did?”
“I’m so sorry, Gracie. He had no right to tell you to stay away from me.”
“He’s your uncle, Sol. He did what he thought was right for you.”
He runs his hands through his hair, then grunts under his breath. “Well, he’s wrong.”
I let out a laugh, but it sounds sad. “Looking back on the past two years, I see his point.”
Sol doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Then he cocks his head to the side. “What are you trying to say? Do you regret being us?”
“God, no. How can you even say that?”
“Then what is it, Grace?” he growls in frustration.
Inhaling deeply, I reach for his hand. The same hand that framed my cheek in its palm before he leaned down and kissed the resistance out of me on New Year’s Eve. “We are each other’s strength and weakness. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. God knows I can’t get you out of my system, and from experience, neither can you.”
“Where does that leave us?”
I shrug. “Take each day as it comes?”
He holds my gaze with his intense stare. Like a look-into-your-soul kind of stare. Butterflies take flight in my stomach, and I can’t look away. It’s as if he’s cast some kind of magic on me.
Sol blinks, breaking the staring contest, “I’ll wait. Take your time. Like I said, I’m here. I’m all in.”
Melt. Wow. I don’t know how long I can sit here and watch him staring at me as if I’m some kind of miracle. I start to pull back, but he tightens his grip on my hand.
“Luke won’t drop by until after evening Mass, if that’s what you’re worried about. Come sit down and tell me about your day.”
“You want to know about my day?”
He nods quickly. “The most excitement I get from mine is my daily sponge bath. And believe me, the excitement shifts to embarrassment very fast when, um . . .” He trails off, his cheeks turning red. He clears his throat with a mortified laugh. “I need to live vicariously through you.”
I sit down on the chair. “Dude. My life is not all that exciting. How are you feeling? Are you in pain?”
“Not gonna lie. Therapy is rough. The pain meds help, but they make me feel loopy which sucks.” He clears his throat. “The accident . . . you know you’re not the only one at fault here. All three of us played a part in this messed up triangle.”
“I know. Still . . .” I let the words trail.
After several seconds of silence, Sol says, “Levi came to visit me.”
“What?” I didn’t see that coming. Wow. “What did you two talk about?”
“You.”
“Me?” My mind is bombarded by all the things they might have said about me. Oh gosh. I don’t think I can sit here and listen to what he has to tell me.
He chuckles and tugs a lock of my hair. “Not really. Well, we did, but that’s not why he came to see me. He came to, um, tell me he was being discharged from the hospital and driving with his mom back home. And to thank me.” He mutters the latter, then clears his throat and looks away.
“That’s . . .” Not really what I was expecting. “Really nice of him.” Sol mutters something under his breath, his eyes looking anywhere but at me, and his neck is turning bright red. “Why does that make you uncomfortable?”
“I don’t deserve gratitude.”
Reaching up, I grasp his chin and tug it down until his gaze drops to mine. “Why not? You saved two lives. That’s a pretty big deal.”
He grunts, then peels my fingers from his chin and kisses the middle of my palm. His brows crease, and he asks, “When are you heading back to school?”
Rolling my eyes at his swift change of topic, I say, “Very smooth, Callan. Very smooth.” I notice how miserable he looks as he waits for my answer. “In a week. My mom thinks I should wait one more week just to make sure I’m good to go.”
His features relax. “Good idea.”
I chuckle at the relief pouring off him. We fall silent, but I can practically hear Sol’s thoughts whirling inside his head. And by the way his hand keeps flexing in mine, something’s on his mind. “Spit it out, Solomon.”