“Did he kiss you like I did?” he murmurs quietly, staring down at me. There’s a challenge in his voice, though I don’t know what it means.
“Levi, our kiss wasn’t real.”
“Answer the question.”
“No,” I murmur. “It was different.”
He takes another deliberate step toward me. My breathing quickens, my chest rising and falling in fast, shallow breaths, but I don’t move a muscle. I’m not sure I’d be able to even if I tried.
“How was it different?” he pushes.
“I don’t know.”
“Was he a better kisser?”
“Levi—”
“Was he? Did he make your toes curl? Did he make the tight little boy shorts beneath that leather skirt wet? Did he make you want him more than your next breath? Did he make you curious about what it would be like if he laid you down and—”
“Stop,” I whisper, cutting him off while squeezing my thighs together.
“Answer me.”
“No.”
“No, you won’t answer me? Or no, he didn’t make you feel those things?”
Digging my teeth into my lower lip, I stare at his mouth. The memories of our kiss do weird things to my body before his arm reaches out, and he grabs my chin in a punishing grip. Tilting my head up, he commands my attention.
“Answer me.”
“The second one,” I murmur.
“Then he isn’t the one for you.”
He doesn’t release his hold, and when I catch his eyes dropping down to my mouth, I ask a question that’s been eating me alive for years. One that, under normal circumstances, I’d never be able to utter. “And who is the one for me?”
The golden flecks in his eyes dim before being covered by his heavy lids. It’s weird. Like the slow blink didn’t just break our eye contact, but our connection as well, closing the door on this conversation and locking it up tight.
Dropping his hand from my chin, he runs his fingers through his thick, dark hair before shaking his head in defeat.
“I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”
Confused, my brows tug down at the center, wrinkles lining my forehead. “What? You’re seriously just leaving?”
“I shouldn’t have come by tonight.” With his hand on my bicep, he guides me away from blocking the exit as I stand there dumbfounded with the entire situation.
“What’s going on, Levi?” I press.
He shakes his head. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I just…I gotta go.”
Then he disappears, leaving me reeling from the conversation.
What the hell was that?
Chapter Twenty
Levi
“Dude. Where were you last night?” Conner asks, crowding my cubicle like he owns the damn thing.
Funny. He’s been doing that a lot lately.
Squeezing the pen in my grip until I’m sure it’ll snap in two, I envision it being Conner’s neck. My mouth quirks with a ghost of a smile before disappearing.
If only.
It takes everything inside of me to release a deep breath from my lungs before I consciously ease the pressure around the pen. However, the petty side of me can’t stand to look at him, so I continue to scribble a bunch of nonsense on a report I’m sure I’ll have to redo as soon as the asshat leaves me alone.
“I went to my mom’s last night,” I mutter, addressing his question from seconds ago when what I really want to say is, back the hell off. After a few tense seconds, I add, “Didn’t know how long you’d need the privacy.” My tone has an edge that I’m sure he notices. That is until he opens his stupid mouth.
“Unfortunately, I think you spooked her when you dropped in. Charlie wouldn’t let me touch her after that. Hell, it was like your interruption turned her into a damn ice queen.”
My jaw tightens as I drop the blue ballpoint pen onto my desk. Chest puffing up, I stand to my full height, towering over Conner’s five-foot-eleven frame with my six-foot-two one.
“Don’t talk about her like that.” My voice is like ice.
“Like what?”
“Like she’s a fucking object.”
“What?” He shakes his head, confused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. The deal’s off. I said you could date her; I didn’t say you could fuck her.”
“What the hell do you think dating means, Levi? Yeah. I like her, but you can’t honestly think I wasn’t going to try to sleep with her. I’m a guy. I’m gonna wanna get my dick wet at one—”
“Gentlemen,” a hushed voice interrupts. Both of us turn to see a shocked Alexandra striding toward us. The heels of her shoes tap against the tiled flooring like our own screwed up death march theme. As soon as I take in the look on her face, I know I’m in deep shit.
“If you have private things to talk about, I suggest you discuss them in private,” she states sharply.
The anger is still pulsing through my veins from Conner’s comment, but I make sure to rein it in. Losing my internship would be the cherry on top of a giant clusterfu—
“I’m sorry,” Conner interrupts my thoughts. “I don’t know what came over us.”
I do.
Rage. Jealousy. Bitterness. The list goes on.
My voice is soft and laced with regret as I murmur, “I’m sorry too, Alexandra. You’re right. It won’t happen again.”
Greg rounds the corner as the apology slides past my lips. I’m positive he’s about to tell me to pack my things and get the hell out of here for being so unprofessional. Sensing the commotion he’s walked into, Greg stalls near my cubicle.
“There a problem here, Alexandra?” the fifty-year-old asks while adjusting his black-rimmed glasses.
“Not at all. Just trying to ring in a few more volunteers for the grand opening.”
“I’m sure they’d be more than happy to offer a helping hand. Wouldn’t you, gentlemen?”
“Of course.”
“Definitely.”
Satisfied, Greg gives a brisk nod then continues on his way, leaving us alone to sort out our shit. Alexandra, however, hasn’t moved an inch as her eyes bounce between me and Asshat Conner like a damn pinball.
“Levi, will you please come to my office so we can work out a few of the details for the Jelani Arts Center opening?” The edge in her voice encourages me not to argue, even though I want nothing more than to shove Conner outside and hit him in the face.
It was only a kiss. A kiss that I practically forced to happen. But still.
My nostrils flare, and my fists squeeze at my sides.
“Levi?” Alexandra presses.
I give her a single, jerky nod. “Sure thing.”
The click-clack of her heels battle the buzzing in my ears as she guides me to her office. Once I’m inside, she closes the door behind me then motions to the chair opposite her desk.
“Take a seat.”
I do as I’m told and rest my ass against the edge of the seat.
“So,” she begins, lacing her perfectly manicured fingers on top of her pristinely organized oak desk. When I notice her professionally colored nails, I can’t help but compare them to Charlie’s. Hers wouldn’t last a week with polish. And I don’t think I’d have it any other way.