He takes a step closer. Close enough to touch me without effort. “And I hope you can forgive me. Don’t expect you to right here and now. But one day. I’d like…”
His eyes drop to my lips and I lick them. He follows the movement but doesn’t speak.
“What?” Bright eyes leap to mine. “What would you like?” My voice low and rumbly.
Hundreds of words and phrases flash in his eyes. Across his face. His lips part, he takes a breath then closes them. He does this again and again. Unspoken words on the tip of his tongue. Wanting. Waiting. Hopeful.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve smiled and laughed this much.” He nibbles his bottom lip, then swallows. “And I have zero expectations of anything.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’d like if we can be…”
If we can be what?
Why am I sweating so much? And in the most awkward places.
“If we can be…” I parrot his words and drag them out.
“Friends.” Oh. Friends. Why was part of me hoping he would say something else? Jesus, he only just apologized. He notices my shift and jumps back in. “Unless you’re not okay with that.”
“No,” I answer, too quick and rowdy. “Yes. Sorry.” He laughs as I straighten out my thoughts. “Yes, we can be friends.”
“Good.” He takes another step closer. His eyes all I see now. And then he wraps his arms around me and presses me to his chest. “Really am sorry, Peyton.”
My arms encircle his waist as I rest my chin on his shoulder. Do friends hug like this? Opposite-sex friends. Reese and I hug all the time. But Reese is more of a brother, someone I have been close with for decades, and someone I ask for advice. Micah is definitely not in the same spectrum as Reese.
His breath hot on my neck, I close my eyes. Then the breeze cools my cheeks and neck as Micah takes a step back.
“Drive safe, hellcat.” Another step back and a wink. “See you tomorrow.”
I lift a hand and wave. “Tomorrow.”
In the car, I press the ignition, buckle my seat belt and stare out the windshield. The radio plays, but all I hear is white noise. The lights from the dash brighten the cab, but I zone out into the dark night.
Micah drives off and waves as he goes. I mimic the movement but don’t focus. Not really.
Tonight, Micah Reed apologized. More than once. Then, just minutes ago, asked for my forgiveness. Said he wants to be friends. But his flirtatious behavior and his arms around me screamed much more than friendship. Those sweet smiles and warm touches and soft tones spoke volumes. Of what happens beyond friendship.
And that nickname. Hellcat. That is new. Well, he muttered it once before, but I don’t think he meant for me to hear it.
Damn, am I confused. Thrown off. Flabbergasted.
“What the hell just happened?” The question of the hour. One I have no idea how to answer.