Watching Murphy eat is making me hard. Every time she cuts a piece of steak, she licks her lips. The lips I want to claim as mine. I’ve been thinking about kissing her all night. Every time she puts the wine glass to her mouth. Every time she talks. Every time a gorgeous smile cracks her face.
I wonder if she would be okay with me kissing her. Technically, this isn’t even a date. Can I kiss her if it’s not a date? Would she be mad if I did? Be upset if I didn’t?
“I finally told my mom,” she says. “I told her everything. About the accident, my roommates, my new job.”
“What did she say?”
“She’s coming out here in a few weeks. Says she wants to spend Thanksgiving with me, but I know she’s going to try and get me to move back to Iowa. She was pretty freaked out.”
I tense up. “But you don’t want to go, do you?”
I find myself holding in a breath until she answers.
She shakes her head. “No. I love my job.” She puts down her fork and looks me in the eyes. “I’m not sure I ever thanked you, Caden. When you first got me the job, I knew it was out of pity and I had no choice but to take it. I never expected it to turn into anything. But now, Jayden keeps telling me I have a head for business and I think I might be offered a promotion soon.”
“That’s great, Murph. And just so you know, nothing I’ve done for you was out of pity. Kindness maybe, but not pity.” I push my food around on my plate. “So, you love your job. Is that the only thing keeping you here?”
“No way. I love New York. I loved it even before I moved here. It’s where I belong. And now I have Trick and Lexi and—”
“Me,” I interrupt. I put my hand on top of hers and look her dead in the eyes so she understands my meaning. “You have me, Murphy. That is, if you want me.”
Her hand trembles underneath mine and I think I hear her breath hitch.
The kitchen timer goes off, alerting us that dessert is done.
I laugh as I get up from the table. “Saved by the bell, Murphy Brown. Stay here, I’ll get dessert.”
I clear our plates and bring them to the kitchen, looking back to see her taking some very large swallows of her wine.
I put the hot peach cobbler in front of her and take my seat. “Speaking of parents, my dad is in New York,” I say. “At least he was a few weeks ago.”
Her surprised eyes snap to mine. “What? I thought you didn’t have any contact with him.”
“I don’t. But he approached me on the street near your old place and then we had a confrontation outside the gym. I had Ethan do some digging and it turns out he’s not a drug addict anymore. He did some time in prison and I guess now he helps people get rehabilitated when they get out of jail. Owns a business and everything.”
“That’s great, Caden. What’s he like?”
I shrug. “Don’t know. I haven’t contacted him.”
“You think he wants your money or something?” she asks.
“At first I did. But now …” I look out the window and onto the city.
“Now you’re scared of what could happen if you take that step,” she says. “Everything is good in your life right now. You don’t want to rock the boat.”
I stare at her introspectively, wondering if she’s talking about me and my dad or me and her.
“Maybe,” I say.
“Do it, Caden. I would give anything to have my dad back, and now you have this opportunity to have yours. What if it turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to you? But you’ll never know unless you take the chance.”
I want to take her words and throw them right back at her—tell her that’s exactly why we should try this thing.
She pushes her plate away. “I’m stuffed,” she says, finishing off her wine. When I put down my fork, too, she grabs our plates and walks them over to the sink to wash them.
“Leave them,” I say, coming up behind her.
My body is almost touching hers. My breath flows over her neck. I can see the fine hairs on her arm stand at attention. But she keeps washing. And I keep standing where I am—close enough to feel the heat between us, but far enough so she doesn’t feel my own growing reaction.
She finishes and turns around. I brace my arms on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. “I have a very important question to ask you, Murph.”
Her eyes close briefly and she takes in a shaky breath as she looks up at me. I pull a hand away from the counter and brush my thumb across the scar on her cheekbone. We lock eyes and I try to convey everything I want to say, but am afraid to.
I drop my hand and smile. “Comedy or sci-fi?”
“What?” she asks, looking confused. And maybe a bit flustered.
“Movies,” I say. “Do you prefer comedy or sci-fi?”
She blows out a relieved breath and then she giggles. “What if I say romance?”
Damn I love that sound. I find myself searching for something funny to say so she’ll make it again.
“I’d say you’re out of luck. Because the last time I checked, I’m a guy.”
And there it is.
“I’m kidding,” she says. “I wouldn’t make you watch a romance.”
“Come on.” I grab her hand and pull her towards the hallway.
“Uh, Caden?” she says, hesitating. “Where exactly are you planning on watching this movie?”
“My theater room.”
“You have a theater room?” Her eyes go wide before she rolls them. “Of course you do.”
I escort her down the hall and into the first door on the left. I flip on the lights and let her look around. The walls aren’t lined with movie posters, they are lined with old jerseys of mine. I kept one from every team I’d ever played on, all the way back to T-Ball.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, walking from jersey to jersey, touching some of them. Then she turns around, biting her lip in thought. “Did the Nighthawks make you change your number?”
Every jersey hanging in this room has #27 on the back. It’s been my number since I was a kid. Right up until my sister went missing a few years ago. “Eight was Lexi’s favorite number,” I tell her. “She grew up bugging me to change it, but I never did. Not until she was gone.”
“So, you changed to number eight for her. What an incredible gesture. And it worked. She came back.” She smiles and looks at my jerseys again. “Lexi and I have become close and I know a little of what happened to her, but I didn’t know that.”
“Not many people know why I changed my number,” I admit.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I lead her over to my collection of DVDs. “Now, what are we going to watch? You pick.”
She peruses the titles and settles on a comedy. Then she looks at the screen that takes up an entire wall. “I knew you had a massive TV somewhere,” she says, laughing.
“A guy’s got to have priorities,” I say, walking her over to the first row of seats.
I look down at my theater-style seating and curse myself for not putting a couch in here, or at the very least, seats with retractable armrests. How in the hell am I supposed to put my arm around her? I didn’t think this through very well.
Maybe she doesn’t want me to put my arm around her.
But when I look at her, she’s eyeing the seats the same way I am. We share a smile, both aware of what the other is thinking.
I put in the movie and dim the lights. Then I grab a few bottles of water from the mini-fridge and take the seat next to her. I hand her a bottle. “I can make popcorn if you like.”
“I’m full, but thanks. Water is all I need.”
The movie starts and I immediately grab her hand and hold it the entire two hours. Neither of us moves. My arm almost goes numb from leaving it in the same position for so long. And when the movie ends, I can’t even say I watched it. I was too busy looking at our hands. Watching the way we would take turns rubbing our thumbs across the other’s knuckle. I was too busy thinking of how or when or where I was going to kiss her tonight.
Because I am going to kiss her tonight. There is no doubt in my mind. I have to kiss her. I have to kiss her as surely as I have to breathe.
I stand up and pull her along with me.
“That was good … I think,” she says, looking embarrassed at the admission.
I laugh. “I didn’t watch much of it either.”
The room is still dim, but not dim enough that I can’t see the way she’s looking up at me. She wants this. She wants it, too. But, like me, she’s plagued by hesitation and uncertainty. My heart races as I pull her close and put my hands on either side of her face as I lean down toward her.
“Caden …”
“Don’t think about it, Murph.”
“That’s the problem,” she says with a sigh. “It’s all I think about.”
Those are the last words she utters before my lips crash down on hers.
Holy God. Kissing Murphy is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Her soft lips immediately part for mine, allowing our tongues to mingle, tasting each other until we are left gasping for air. My hands leave her face and find her shoulders, her arms, her back—all the places I’ve longed to caress but couldn’t until now.
She puts a hand on my chest in the tight space between us. Her other hand makes its way to the back of my neck as she winds her fingers through my hair. Seductive throaty noises come from her when I break the kiss for air and let my lips explore her neck.
My hands trace every soft curve of her sides, longing to feel what’s underneath, but needing to take it slow. When my lips find hers again, we mold together, feasting on each other like there’s no tomorrow.
My hard dick is straining against the fly of my jeans and I pull her even more tightly against me. I don’t care if she can feel it. I want her to know what she does to me. I need her to know I think of her as so much more than a friend.
Before crossing a line I don’t want to cross tonight, I break our seal and put my forehead down on hers as we breathe heavily into each other.
“That was …” I can’t find the words.
“Yeah,” she says, catching her breath.
I give her a squeeze. “Don’t get any ideas, Murphy Brown, this isn’t a date, you know.”
She laughs, putting her hands on my chest. I wonder if she can feel my heart thundering underneath them. Because I’m not sure it’s ever beaten this fast.
I lean back so I can look at her. “But if I asked, would you be open to having another … thing with me?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. It might take some convincing,” she says, moving a hand to the back of my head and tugging on the ends of my hair.
“Gladly,” I say, leaning down for a replay of what I’m sure was the best damn kiss of my life.