“What if he isn’t what she wants?” Lex asked quietly. “What will you do?”

“I . . .”

“That’s what I thought.” He walked over to the light switch and flicked it off. “See you on the other side.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next few days flew by. Blake answered my texts politely, and the kiss was never mentioned.

I knew I’d hurt her. When I closed my eyes, I still saw the look of disbelief on her face, which had quickly turned into anger as she hung her head and walked out of the house.

And that was why women weren’t allowed in the house.

Why I had rules, damn it!

I stared at the couch. Like it was going to suddenly give me a replay of what had happened a few nights ago.

Her mouth had tasted so sweet, so luscious. Just thinking about it was making my dick strain against my jeans. My physical reaction was alarming enough without adding in the fact that I couldn’t stop thinking about her, wondering if she was okay, and wanting to talk to her.

Just talk.

About nothing. I just needed to hear her voice.

Shit.

Lex waltzed into the room, took one look at me pouring myself a glass of orange juice, and smirked. “Oranges do it for you now?” he said. “Should I hide those orange-blossom candles in the living room, or is this just a stage?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s not the juice. Or the oranges.” I sighed. “It’s the couch.”

“Uh.” A perplexed look crossed Lex’s features. “The couch?”

I nodded.

“So your new dirty words are big cushions? High thread count? Soft leather? Ikea?”

“Shut it.” I covered my face with my hands and let out a few curses. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Dude, if a couch gave you an erection, you tell me.”

“It’s because of what happened on the couch.”

“Ohh.” Lex nodded and swiped his keys from the table. “You mean the practice kiss that really wasn’t practice at all but you breaking your own rules, and had I come in, oh, I don’t know, say a half hour later, said couch would be soiled with all the sex you’re currently not having.”

“Why are we friends?”

“See ya.” Lex saluted me with his middle finger. “And not that I’m a relationship expert, since I’d rather bang ’em than lose ’em, but maybe you should talk to her.” He nodded slowly. “Use your words.”

“Bite me.”

His laugh had me wanting to key his car.

Or maybe drive it into Puget Sound.

Fine. I could use my words. I could fix this. I would fix this.

I checked my watch. I had two hours before class, and Blake didn’t have any morning classes.

“Words,” I mumbled, reaching for my phone. “Use my words.”

“This isn’t coming out right,” I blurted as Blake lifted a couch cushion high into the air, aiming for my face, and then, as if thinking twice about it, lowering it toward my groin.

I’d been at her house a total of five seconds before World War III broke out.

“You think?” she said, seething.

“I’m trying to make things better!”

“Is that what you’re doing?” she screeched. “You apologized for kissing me, then kissed me again.”

“About that.” I winced. “I got caught up in the moment.” Actually, she looked so damn pretty that I’d forgotten all about my huge speech. I’d just apologized for last weekend, then, two seconds later, fused my mouth against hers.

She kissed me back.

For around four seconds.

And then she shoved me back so hard that my coffee spilled and ran down my chest, probably leaving a burn trail all the way to my dick.

Wrong day to freeball it. That was for sure.

“Ian.” Why did my name have to sound so good coming from those swollen lips? Probably because God was punishing me. The one girl I craved and she was ready to suffocate me. Great. “You’re not that guy, the relationship one. That’s what I want. Not fleeting kisses. Because”—she swallowed—“well, because it confuses me. And that’s not fair.”

I sighed, hanging my head. “I know, Blake. I’m sorry. I got carried away. You know the song ‘Blurred Lines’?”

“Not helping your case.”

“Sorry.” I managed a weak smile. “Again.” But what I really wanted to say? Let me take you out on a date. Give me a chance. I could change.

But I knew better than anyone.

Guys didn’t just change. I mean, I’d never tried, but the thing about Blake? She was sweet, innocent, and what if I ruined her? What if I told her I wanted to commit, jumped in with both feet, only to cheat on her?

“I swear”—I gulped, hating every word I was saying—“I’ll help you with David. And then . . . I’m hoping we can still be friends.”

Her face fell. “Friends.”

“Funny how words that are supposed to make people happy kind of make you want to punch a tree like Chuck Norris.”

Blake burst out laughing. “Yeah, well . . .”

It wasn’t awkward. If I had to describe the moment—me still dripping-wet with coffee, Blake holding a pillow to keep my mouth from assaulting hers—I’d say it was sad.

That’s what I felt.

Sad.

Because I liked her.

Clearing my throat, I held out my hand. “Friends?”