Meet You in the Middle

by Devon Daniels

  He tilts his head. “Would it bother you if it had been a date?”

  Oh, sugar. That question sends me crashing back down to earth. If I was taking a lie detector test, now is when the sensors would start jumping. He may as well have his thumbs on my wrists.

  “Who you date is none of my business.” I’m such a cowardly lion.

  “That’s not an answer.”

  I shrug, but my face burns, exposing my lie. We’re dancing around this so expertly, we could be pairs figure skaters.

  “Is it really such a hard question? Here, let me model it for you.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “You might ask me, Ben, would it bother you if I was out on a date with someone? And then I would respond, Why yes, Kate, that would bother me a whole hell of a lot.”

  My jaw drops. My heart starts performing an elaborate tap dance in my chest.

  He calmly lifts his beer to his lips and sips. “See? Not so hard.”

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  “Something I should’ve done a long time ago.”

  He sets his beer down and exhales a long, slow breath, and it’s the sound of surrender. The sigh of someone at the end of their rapidly fraying rope. When he looks back up at me his eyes are emerald green fire, glowing brighter than I’ve ever seen them. Kryptonite eyes. I watch, transfixed, as they gradually darken, the pupils dilating right in front of me.

  There’s no mistaking this look. He wants me. I may as well be naked.

  “Kate.” The smile he gives me is somehow both calm and nervous. “Do you think about me even half as much as I think about you?”

  I freeze. The world stops. If this were a TV show, there’d be a record scratch.

  “I—I guess to answer that I’d need to know how much you’re thinking about me,” I stammer.

  His eyes are locked on mine. “All the time. When I’m with you, when I’m without you. Since the day we met I’ve thought of almost nothing else. I pretend I don’t. That’s the killer, you know. The pretending. Pretending I don’t have feelings for you, pretending that being friends is enough. I’ve gotten really good at pretending. But goddamn, I’m so tired of it, Kate. Every minute I’m with you that I don’t tell you feels like one step closer to insanity.”

  He reaches out and winds a lock of hair that’s fallen over my shoulder around his finger, like he can’t help himself, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Like he’s tethering himself to me.

  “I thought if I told you, I’d scare you off, or ruin whatever this is. And it’s good, what we have now. But it’s not what I want, and I can’t keep pretending.”

  His voice holds a deep resolve. His expression is so honest and determined and sweet, I wish I had my phone handy so I could snap a picture. I’d make it my wallpaper and stare at it all day. I would, but it’s like someone’s pressed pause on me and I’m stuck in a freeze-frame. My hand is pressed to my mouth, where it’s been ever since the words pretending I don’t have feelings for you fell out of his mouth.

  “I kept thinking if I gave you enough time you’d come around and . . . I don’t know, want to ruin things too? Sometimes I think you do, but other times . . .” He squints at me, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I’ve been driving myself crazy trying to figure out the right way to do this, but what I finally realized is, if you find someone who makes you happy, don’t you have a responsibility to tell them? Just say it out loud and go for it?”

  I haven’t taken a solid breath since he started talking and I’m slowly dying. Or maybe it’s his words that are making me light-headed. I’m teetering on the ledge of a high cliff, toes over the edge, trying to decide if I’ll fly or die if I jump. My heart is in my throat. His heart is in his eyes. Before he’s even finished speaking, I’m frantically trying to imprint the most beautiful words anyone’s ever said to me on my memory.

  I lean into his hand, the one that’s been fussing with my hair, and his palm automatically opens to cradle my cheek. His face is just inches from mine.

  I take a deep breath and leap.

  “Of course I think about you, Ben. I think about you so much, it’s making me crazy. Where can I sign up for the ruining of things?”

  About fifty different emotions kaleidoscope across his face in the span of a few seconds. Surprise. Relief. Joy. Desire. He slides his hand to the back of my neck and pulls me in until we’re nose to nose. His eyes search my face.

  “Kiss me already,” I breathe, and his lips are on mine before I even get the words out.

  When our mouths touch it’s more than a kiss; it’s a caress. Soft. Warm. Testing. Tasting. When I sigh into his mouth he presses closer, grunting softly and giving my lower lip a gentle bite. I squeak in pleasure and he sweeps his tongue against mine.

  Somewhere in the deep recesses of my brain, I know there are people surrounding us, whispered conversations and prying eyes, but I register none of it. He’s my spinning center axis. My body has only one frequency and it’s tuned to the man in front of me. I only know Ben’s lips. Ben’s hands. He tilts my head gently, angling my face to possess my mouth a different way, and I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair. It’s seconds. It’s hours.

  When he pulls away, he rests his brow against mine and the breath that shudders out of him is heavy and rasping. His hand drops to the table and it’s shaking.

  Eventually he lifts his head and scans over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes.

  “Ben?”

  He nods at someone in acknowledgment, raising his hand in the air and making a scribbling motion.

  Check, please.

  Chapter 23

  The next few minutes are a blur.

  Ben tows me through the restaurant.

  We race across the parking lot.

  We’re up against his car.

  Ben is frenzied, eyes wild. His hands touch me everywhere: face, hair, back, butt. His kisses are desperate, like I’m air and he’s drowning. His body surrounds mine like a cocoon. I grip his arms and nearly swoon at the muscles I can’t even fit in my hands. I’m overcome by sensations: hard body, soft sweater, warm lips, jaw stubbled like fine-grit sandpaper.

  In all the times I imagined this, my only thoughts were of him. How he would feel. Taste. The scent of his skin. The weight of his hands on me. What I didn’t account for was my hunger, my need. Now that it’s laid bare, it’s almost violent.

  I’m lunging, pouncing, frantically trying to climb him. He’s so tall, and without my extra heel height I’m not getting the access to him I’m craving. My hands scrabble against his shoulders until he grabs me under my thighs and hoists me up. I lock my legs around his waist and cling to him like a spider monkey. I wrap my arms around his neck and devour his mouth. I want to consume him.

  It’s a searing heat: hands grasping, tongues tasting, bodies gorging. We’re animals freed from our cages. I’m starving and greedy and can’t be satisfied. I can barely breathe, but I won’t stop to fill my lungs. It’s like if our mouths separate, even for a second, this moment might slip away and never have happened. Through our kisses, we’re saying everything we haven’t been able to: What took you so long? and Finally and I’m desperate for you and Please don’t stop. Never, ever stop.

  “Kate.” His voice is gravelly. “You’re . . . this is . . . we need to . . .”

  He can’t finish a thought because I won’t surrender his lips long enough for him to speak full sentences. My brain pounds a relentless drumbeat: more-more-more. More of his mouth. More touching. More Ben.

  He pulls away slightly and brushes my hair out of my face, a smile playing on his mouth like he’s privy to a juicy secret. He cradles my cheekbone, giving me a series of gentle tasting bites on my top lip, then bottom. His other hand is gripping my ass, dangerously close to the apex of my thighs, and I tighten my legs around him, needy hips grinding against f
irm abs. His hard length presses up against my bottom.

  “Kate,” he exhales softly, and it sounds like a prayer.

  He’s still kissing me as his hand skims down my neck to my shoulder, bounding south in a leisurely exploration. His fingers trail down my side, steal across my rib cage. When he grazes the underside of my breast, my back arches and I briefly lose myself. I start to slide and his arm tightens around me, holding me up. I’m basically parked on top of his arousal now and every nerve ending between my legs is on fire.

  “I need to get you . . . somewhere else,” he pants between broken breaths. “Somewhere that’s not here. Somewhere with walls.”

  “Home?”

  I’ve taken an interest in his ear now and I nibble at his lobe, kissing and sucking along the hinge of his jaw. I’ve never given a hickey before, but there’s a first time for everything. I want to mark him, stake my claim on this rugged, uncharted territory. He looks at me and if he realizes I’m considering branding him, he gives no sign. He swallows heavily and I watch the movement of his throat up close. I want to taste every inch of his skin.

  “Home,” he murmurs in agreement, and the single word sends a frisson of anticipation to my core. “But to do that, we’re going to have to get in the car.”

  “Not yet,” I whine and snuggle deeper into his neck. His husky laugh in my ear is nearly my undoing. Out of nowhere my brain flashes to the two of us in bed, tangled in sheets, the teasing musical notes of Ben’s laughter trapped and echoing in my sternum. The scene is so vivid I wonder if I’ve just had my first psychic vision.

  “I think we’re about thirty seconds from indecent exposure. Or a lewd act. Or something.” He scrubs a hand over his face, clearly torn, and the combination of his tortured expression, mussed hair, and ravenous eyes has me nearly catatonic with lust.

  I bury my face in his neck and inhale. Then inhale again. God, he smells glorious. I could get high off him. He chuckles and goose bumps scatter my skin. This husky laugh is my new happy place.

  “Are you smelling me again?”

  “Yep. Sorry not sorry.”

  When he laughs again, I duck my head and press an ear to his chest. The deep rumbling vibrates through my body clear down to my toes, permeating every nook and cranny. I feel it in my elbow. I feel it in my spine.

  He tips my chin up to kiss me again and I cannot. Get. Enough. I’m so lost in him that I barely notice he’s opened the passenger door until he’s lowering me onto the seat. I see what he did there. Sneaky Benjy. I reluctantly release him from my octopus tentacles but when he reaches for my seatbelt, I grab his face and pull him deeper into the car. He accepts my ambush with a smile against my lips, but when I try to deepen the kiss he pulls away with a tut. The gentle tenderness in his eyes softens the blow.

  “Katie.” He’s looking at me like I’m a priceless treasure. “I’ve waited a long time for this. I’m not going to have you in the back of my car.”

  I sigh and let go, keeping my paws off him long enough for him to buckle me in. When he’s done he gives me a light peck as if to say, Good girl. It’s so sweetly protective that it takes all my willpower not to barrel-roll over the console and burrow into his lap.

  I’m pretty sure Ben breaks land-speed records driving us home. We can’t keep our hands off each other, which is alarming considering he’s pushing eighty. His palm skims up and down my thigh, squeezing every so often in an unconscious gesture of possession. Mine. Like he’s confirming I’m real. For my part, I’m running my fingernails up and down his forearm, alternately scratching, then smoothing down the hairs. I can’t believe I finally get to touch him this way.

  I start giggling. “What would you have done if I’d said I just wasn’t that into you? This would have been one awkward car ride home.”

  “I’m very persuasive.” He curses under his breath and cuts around a car driving too slowly—and by too slowly, I mean they’re doing the speed limit.

  “Can’t argue with you there. Your speech back there was very sweet.”

  “Sweet?” He looks offended. “I assume you mean manly. Very masculine and sexy.”

  “It’ll be sexy if you admit you practiced it.”

  “I’ll never tell.” He winks. “How’d I do?”

  “It worked, obviously. Although you probably could have just quit after you said my dating would bother you a hell of a lot.”

  “I overshot it, then? Damn.”

  “I’m not complaining.”

  His thumb is tracing lazy circles on my thigh, and it’s so distracting I can barely focus on our conversation. I reach my hand out to massage his neck and he shifts a little closer to me, hum-growling in pleasure. “Please do not stop doing that.”

  I love that he thinks this massage is for him and not just an excuse to touch him.

  His playful expression fades to seriousness. “Tell me something. How long ago should I have done this?”

  Headlights from a passing car flash across the windshield, briefly illuminating his face, and I glimpse the sincerity in his expression. He’s interested in this answer.

  “The night at your apartment was a turning point. But if I’m being honest, there was a lot going on before that. I was . . . sad when we stopped talking. I missed you.”

  Considering how long it took to admit that to myself, I’m proud of how freely I tell him. His speech must have been a truth serum.

  He glances at me, a surprised—and slightly cocky—grin on his face.

  “That’s not supposed to make you happy. I was a miserable human. Stephen wanted to kill me. Besides, I could ask you the same question. What took you so long?”

  His jaw drops. “What took me so long? Kate, tell me you’re kidding.”

  “Do I look like I’m kidding? You drove me half-crazy with wondering! I couldn’t figure you out!”

  “I will crash this car. You’re the queen of mixed signals. I was constantly testing the waters and you either slammed the door in my face or ran away. Every time I thought we were making headway you’d make some comment like, I could never be with a green-eyed, fiscally conservative giant. What was I supposed to think?”

  He exits the highway and when we slow at a stoplight he turns to face me, frustration plain on his face. He’s really worked up about this. Over his shoulder I see the Capitol Building, looming and stately and vaguely threatening. It’s a reminder of everything at stake for us, and my stomach twists with unease. Have we really considered how complicated things are about to get? I swing my gaze back to Ben, shelving my misgivings for the moment.

  “I can see how you’d be confused,” I concede, “but I was confused too. Maybe next time you should speak up instead of trying to test me.”

  “Or maybe you could have just asked me if I was dating someone.”

  “Uh, no.”

  “No?”

  “No. I do not chase guys. I don’t make the first move. That’s your job.”

  “Says the feminist!” He claps a hand to his forehead.

  “You can still be a feminist and believe in the traditional rules of courtship, okay? I don’t need to lead in every aspect of my life. That’s the entire point of feminism, anyway, that I can do or be anything I want. And I want to be pursued.”

  “You are a contradiction wrapped in an enigma, Kate Adams.” He shakes his head, muttering to himself. “‘Not a romantic. Wants to be chased.’ I’ll show you a first move.”

  “Is that a threat or a promise?”

  The next time we stop, he looks over and he’s wearing his bedroom eyes again. Dark and dangerous. He leans over the center console and kisses me like he’s trying to tell me something, and while I’m not sure what the message is, I’m sure enjoying the delivery. We make out like teenagers until the blast of a car horn jolts us back to the present.

  Finally, we’re at his building. We stumble to the eleva
tor bank, latched onto each other like the world will end if we let go. He pins me to the wall, one hand cradling my face while the other snakes under my sweater, his fingers stroking up and down the bare skin of my back. It feels so good I’m practically purring. I bury my face in his neck, sucking in indulgent lungfuls of his addictive scent. I will buy cinnamon Altoids at my earliest possible convenience. I start laughing when I remember our earlier elevator ride, which now feels like it took place in another lifetime.

  “I was about to kill that woman and her damn stroller.”

  He draws back, eyes heavy-lidded. “You were giving me all these looks.”

  “Me? You were giving me the looks!”

  We’re laughing as we fall into his apartment. We kick off our shoes like toddlers at a bounce house and come back together in a tangle of limbs. I’ve just started to wonder where we’ll wind up—couch? bed?—when he pulls back slightly and squeezes my hand. He looks unsure.

  “I want you to know, I don’t have any expectations. Obviously. It’s not like I knew we’d end up here tonight.” He’s so earnest I could eat him.

  “No expectations? Gosh, now I feel like a perv. I had all sorts of ideas . . .”

  He smiles, but there’s an edge to it. “You know what I mean. I just want you to feel comfortable with . . . I mean, I’ll do whatever you . . .” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jesus. This came out a lot smoother in my head.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve seen you this nervous before. Heck, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you nervous.”

  He glances down at our linked hands and hesitates. The air between us thrums with tension.

  “When you’ve been thinking about something—someone—this long, you don’t want anything to screw it up. You’re calling the shots here. You need to tell me what you want.”

  “You’ll make me heady with power,” I warn, faux threatening, but the emotion squeezing my throat makes my voice shake.

  I’m the nervous one now as I identify the look in his eyes. I don’t want to focus on what it means, so I raise one of our linked hands and place it on my chest, just above my breast, and give him my naughtiest come hither look. He takes the hint.