Tucker and Rooney trickle in, grabbing toppings and fixings. Once again, my eyes snag on Willa. We stand there as if life is in slow motion, our friends circling us in a blur.
“You guys?” Tucker pokes me. I finally whip my head his way, making him jump back. “Jesus, you’re scary. You have psycho eyes. You need to go for a run or what?”
“That’s exactly what I need—or what,” I mumble.
Willa’s cheeks pink. She holds the stack of plates and white-knuckles them. When I walk up to her, her chest is heaving, a flush darkening her neck and ears. “Can you stay after dinner?” I ask.
Her eyes bug out of her head. “Um, what?”
“Just stay after they leave. I want to put something to you.”
Another one of her snort-giggles sneaks out. I’ve figured out it’s her nervous laugh. “That sounded filthy, Bergman.”
Raising an eyebrow, I take the plates from her. “Pervert. Sit your ass down and eat some tacos.”
She bites her lip, and for the first time, in a long while, she smiles like the Willa I used to know. The one who had something in life to smile about.
Tucker and Becks are college guys, so they destroy a serious amount of food. Rooney’s not far behind them, but it’s Willa I watch, picking at her black beans, popping them into her mouth like she’s willing herself to eat at all. My eyes lock on hers, as once again time and space fade to the periphery. I need everyone to leave so I can ask her. And then I need her to say yes.
Willa’s eyes flick up and meet mine. First, they widen like, whatcha looking at? But as I hold her gaze, they narrow to irritated slits.
Becks pulls out his phone. “Timer.”
“Bets,” Tucker calls.
Rooney tosses down her taco in disgust. “Nope. I am not enabling this any longer. I’m sick of Mom and Dad fighting.” Standing, she rips the phone out of Becks’s hand, shoves Tuck’s money into his shirt, and yanks both of them up by the arms. “Out. These two need to get the hell over this astronomical sexual tension and deal with it the old-fashioned way.”
Willa’s jaw drops as she looks over at Rooney.
“Seriously, Rooster?”
Rooney shakes her head. “I’m so over this. You two. Talk. Touch. Fuck. Please, God, just end the torture. I’m drowning in it. I’m contact-horny around you guys—”
“I can help with that,” Tucker offers.
Becks smacks him upside the head. “Cut it out.”
“I can handle myself fine, boys,” Rooney says before she directs herself to Willa and me. “The point is this: It’s enough. Work it out.”
Rooney drags the guys with her out the front door and slams it behind her.
Willa tracks their movement, but eventually, her head turns back my way, disbelief tightening her features. She looks wildly uncomfortable, and when Willa Rose Sutter is uncomfortable, she does not talk about it. “Well, that was out of nowhere.”
Correction. She’ll talk about it if it accomplishes downplaying or denying.
“Not really, Willa.” I stand and collect plates, stacking them until they’re a tower of teetering leftovers.
Willa sputters while she jumps up and gathers the fixing plates, sweeping shredded cheese off the edge of the table and dashing in with her handful. “What the hell are you talking about?”
I round on her, dumping the plates in the sink with a clatter. Willa carefully shoves her arms’ contents onto the counter, then turns to face me.
“I told you what I wanted at Christmas.”
“Yeah,” she snaps. “And then my mom died, forgive me.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” A sigh rushes out of me. “I’m saying Rooney’s stating the obvious.”
Willa’s jaw clenches as her eyes spark furious copper. “It’s not obvious. We’re not obvious.”
“Oh?” Slowly, I walk toward her. Willa steps back in synch with me, until her ass bumps the counter. I place my hands on its surface, bracing my arms so that she’s caged inside my body. She has to crane her neck to look up at me. Her pulse slams at the base of her throat. Color floods her cheeks. Her nipples are diamond bits beneath her threadbare Mia Hamm T-shirt, and she presses her thighs together.
“Head to toe, Sunshine, says you want me. Look at me and tell me you don’t see the same thing.”
She juts her chin up, her eyes meeting mine. No beard to hide my own blush or the way my throat sticks when I try to swallow. My shirt does nothing to cover my rapid breaths. My jeans are a lost cause. No possible material could hide that I’m rock hard for her. My fingers are white-knuckling the counter. We’re a combustion reaction the moment before its elements meet.
I dip my head, sliding my lips along the shell of her ear. “Tell me you don’t see it, Willa.”
She shudders. “I see it.”
“Because you want it,” I whisper against her neck, then trail faint kisses down her throat.
“I don’t want it…any more than you do.”
A dry laugh leaves me. “What if I told you I want it so bad I can’t think straight?”
She swallows. “Well, then I’ll admit I want it that bad, too, just not how you do.”
“And how do I want it?” I whisper against her neck.
She huffs a frustrated sigh but leans into my touch. “You know what I mean. You want warm fuzzies. And I just want sex.”
“That’s bullshit, Willa.” I straighten and press my pelvis to hers. Willa whimpers. “You want more. You’re just scared.”
“Am not,” she rasps.
“How about this. Come with me to the cabin up in Washington over spring break. Give me that time to show you there’s nothing to be scared of. You. Me. The woods. Four days.”
Willa bites her lip. “I should stay here and study.”
I push away from the counter. Yanking a towel off the handlebar, I throw it over my shoulder. “Study at the cabin. Study naked. Study clothed. I don’t care. I’ll cook. You rest. You need some R and R.”
She’s staring at me. Her irises are nonexistent, her legs scissored shut. Her hair practically crackles with raw energy. Willa’s warring with herself, battling over what she wants and how she’s lived her whole life. They’re mutually exclusive. You can’t give yourself to someone and wall yourself off.
She’s cornered and she knows it. I’ve called us for what we are—two people who care so much more, want so much more than we’ve allowed ourselves to admit. First, we were both too pissed to see what was really there. Then as the heat of our tension began to boil over, and the real structure of our dynamic revealed itself, we were both too shocked and apprehensive to do anything about it.
That was then. This is now.
I’ve spent the last eight weeks without Willa in my life. I never want that to happen again. I’m done pretending this stilted frenemyship works. I can only hope Willa is ready to give up the act, too.
“You wussing out on me, Sunshine?”
Her eyes narrow and darken. “Bullshit, I am.”
“Good.” I turn toward the sink and run the water. “Then it’s a plan.”
“Ryder, I don’t…I mean, it’s not…” She chokes on her words and comes up short. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Stomping over to me, she presses her front to my back. “You need to understand that this is a lost cause. I am not girlfriend material. You are not going to change my mind. When you see sense, we’re going to fuck like rabbits, but it’ll be no strings, no commitment. Then I’ll wreck you with one emotionless orgasm after another, for which I expect to be repaid in Swedish meatballs and those delicious mini-sausages you made at Christmas.”