Page 163 of Trading Paint
Leaning forward, I kissed him again. Falling to the floor again, any willpower I had was non-existent tonight when he said things like that. No one had ever told me I was sexy before, aside from him. Once again, he ended up between my legs. This time I pulled away when I thought of why he was here.
“Sorry, that was my fault.”
Still lying on the floor, his head fell back when he groaned.
“You’re killing me, Sway.” He muttered with a light chuckle.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I only said that because every time I’m around you—I think about you naked.” He winked with a cocky nod.
Was he flirting with me?
Conscious of my tension, he laughed. “Let’s get up.”
So we moved to the bed, he attacked me once more and when his hands made their way to the funbags, he pulled away again only this time he set pillows in between us.
“Apparently we need barriers tonight.” Trying to catch my breath, he kissed me again, his lips exultant. He moved his mouth to whisper in my ear—his breathing just as ragged as mine. “Stay on your side, honey.”
I giggled despite my embarrassment that we couldn’t keep our hands to ourselves.
Continuing to watch Sports Center, I blurted out. “What made you fly across the country for a night?”
His head turned on the pillow, his thick eyelashes fluttered closed a few times before he gave me a soft smile. “I just missed you,that’sall.” He turned back toward the television. “Sometimes I just need to remember home.”
“There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”
“It’s not important.”
Not important? How could it not be important?
“I’m home?” I pointed at myself awkwardly. I’m not so sure it was presented as a question, or even a statement.
“Yes,” he smiled.
His eyes focused on the picture on my nightstand of us when we were around fourteen in Mexico on the beach.
How was I home?Oh jeez, I was so confused.
Why did he say things like this? Why was he so cryptic in everything he did or said to me? Could it be that he was just as confused about where our relationship had gone as I was?
Jameson has always reminded me of a sprint car set-up. They can be some of the most temper-sensitive cars out there when it comes to weight distribution, just like Jameson.
Take the suspension for example. You can either have a coil spring/shock combination, torsion bars, or a combination of both.
A coil spring system is used to store energy and subsequently release the energy to absorb the shock or maintain a force between contracting surfaces. When you think about it, Jameson and I used each other as coil springs to absorb anything that happened in our lives. For that, I held him to different standards. Anything else in my life, I was precipitately impulsive. When it came to Jameson and telling him how I felt for him, I couldn’t form the words.
When he fell asleep on my bed, I watched him like the stalker I was. I couldn’t stop staring at him, entranced by his beauty. My stupid girly brain imagined that he was here because he wanted me in all the ways I wanted him. Could it be that he got the same energized rush when he saw me as I did with him? Could it be that when we kissed, he felt the same crushing zeal?
I wasn’t really a stalker, was I?
I mean he is my best friend, that’s not a stalker, right? I didn’t know what the difference would be. It all felt the same and now that the term was defined, I figured I should look into therapy.
And then I wondered how I would present this to a therapist?
“Hello, I’m stalking my best friend. Do you think you can help me? I’m afraid that if he doesn’t love me back; I might resort to further stalking and with my arrest record, I’d be going to prison for the three strikes and you’re out deal.”
Yeah, that doesn’t sound dumb at all.
