The Date Dare Page 6

But my body doesn’t seem to care; it wants Elliott. He strokes my cheek lightly and works his fingers into my hair. “I look for signs, hints that she wants a kiss. Sometimes she’ll part her lips. Other times it’s more subtle. Maybe she’s looking at my lips.”

  I actually am staring at his mouth, so when he says that, I look up and catch his eyes. He smiles, but it’s nothing like any smile I’ve ever seen on him before. This smile is seductive. It’s an entirely different Elliott I’ve never known, but I want to.

  I wonder if he feels it, this pulsing energy between us? Then I think, how could he not, with the heat of it almost burning me while we sit here on my couch?

  “Elliott,” I start and stop because I have no idea what to say.

  Not that it would matter if I did. He places his free finger across my lips. “Shhh.”

  For some reason, his touch and command to be silent is the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced and a low moan escapes from my throat.

  “Fuck,” Elliott replies just as low, and he clenches my hair tighter.

  His finger is still lightly resting on my lips and we both seem to realize it at the same time. I don’t move because for a second, it’s as if he’s looking directly in my soul, and he sees himself reflected there. He shifts his fingers so his thumb traces my lips. His touch is both exactly as I imagined, while somehow being completely different.

  “Darcy,” he says and that’s all it takes. I lean forward at the same time he does.

  We shouldn’t be here like this. Shouldn’t be sitting this close to each other on the couch we’ve both sat on probably a million times. Because nothing about those times is anyway similar to what we’re doing right now.

  His lips are inches from mine and I suddenly want them more than I’ve ever wanted anything. I’ve imagined them so many times: how they feel and what they taste like. Would his kiss be soft or hard? Would he be gentle or demanding?

  It doesn’t matter. I just want him. Elliott.

  He brushes his mouth across mine so gently, I actually open my eyes a bit to make sure I didn’t dream the entire thing. I didn’t, but he’s pulled his head back and my cheeks feel hot because I’m pretty sure he hadn’t been planning to kiss me.

  I open my mouth to apologize, but he surprises me by saying, “I want to do that again.”

  “Yes,” I whisper so softly I’m not sure he hears.

  This time he frames my face with both of his hands. A twinge of guilt grabs me by the throat, but I close my eyes and will it to go away. Then his mouth is on mine again, but this time his lips are harder and more demanding and holy mother of pearl , how in the world is it possible for me to not know Elliott is a master kisser?

  He takes his time, placing soft kisses against my mouth, while in the same breath, nibbling them with just enough pressure from his teeth to have me nearly writhing. I want him. I want him to nibble every inch of my body. I want to spread my legs and have him eat me out the way he described it before.

  I whimper, imagining it. He pulls back long enough to whisper, “I know what you’re thinking about.” His voice is coarse and rough, and it feels good to know he’s as affected as I am. He bites down on my earlobe and gives it a tug that sends a jolt of electricity straight to my clit.

  I gasp in unexpected pleasure, no one has ever done that to me before, and Elliott tilts my head back with the hand he has in my hair. I close my eyes and simply feel: his lips covering mine, demanding entrance, his body shifting, pressing to get closer when I part my lips and let him in.

  He doesn’t hesitate, accepting my invitation to deepen the kiss. His tongue sweeps inside my mouth. It’s so easy to picture another part of him inside me, and I place a hand on his upper thigh and slowly drag it up to rest on his erection.

  He feels so much bigger than I’d imagined. I can’t help but whisper, “Oh my, God,” as I move my fingers along the hard, denim-clad ridge. Unfortunately, my amazement at the size of his dick makes him pull back. His eyes widen.

  “Damn, Darcy,” he says and scoots much too far away. “I’m sorry.”

  I want to tell him it’s okay. That I liked it. That I didn’t want him to stop. And most of all, that there is nothing in the world to apologize for. But one look at his face stops me in my tracks. He’s obviously distressed. He’s running his fingers through his hair, trying to straighten it up, and looking over everything in the room except me.

  “Elliott,” I finally whisper.

  He turns his attention to me and his eyes are careful and intent while they study me. I’m not sure exactly what he’s looking for. If it’s guilt, he won’t find any. He won’t find remorse or regret either. Though it saddens me that all three are apparent in his expression. Is it because he thinks I’m Tate’s or is it something else altogether?

  “I’m sorry,” he repeats, and this time adding, “I don’t know what got into me, but it won’t happen again.”

  Frankly, that only makes me mad. ”Would you stop apologizing?” I ask him. “You act as if that kiss was all you, but from where I sat, there were two of us, and we seemed to be enjoying ourselves. Or at least I was.”

  “Just because we were enjoying ourselves doesn’t mean it was right or that we should keep doing it.” He obviously sees my anger because he takes a deep breath and when he speaks again, he sounds very calm. “Darcy, you’re my best friend in entire world. You have been since we were what, six or seven? You are everything to me. I can replace a lover in my bed, but I can’t replace you.”

  I can’t be angry at him for speaking those thoughts, not when they are the exact same ones I had not long ago. Had I not come to the same conclusion? That I can’t replace Elliott?

  He’s right, and even though my body is still protesting, calling a stop to what we were doing before we went any further was the right thing to do. My body can and will get over not sleeping with him tonight. My heart would never get over losing him. A whole night of pleasure in his arms isn’t worth not being best friends after.

  For several minutes we both sit on the couch. If I was sitting with anyone else in this position, the silence would be awkward. After how Elliott and I spent the last fifteen minutes the silence between the two of us should be awkward. For some reason, however, it's not.

  It all goes back to how well Elliott and I know each other and how comfortable we are with each other. But all I have to do is glance to my side, though, and see that Elliott’s erection isn't completely gone. That one glance and it's perfectly clear I don't know everything about him.

  He catches me taking a peek at his crotch and grins. I laugh. For this one minute, everything is okay. We're okay. Because even though we were tempted, we didn’t succumb, and if there are emotional ramifications, we’ll deal with them. I take a deep breath, and it hits me how close I came to losing him by being stupid.

  There’s an obnoxious voice in the back of my head whispering that even if we haven’t called ourselves exclusive and even if he hasn’t really kissed me, I would still feel like I’d cheated on Tate. And though it’s much much too early to even think such things, Tate is the type of man I always pictured myself settling down with.

  Elliott stands up, the television show is long over, and it’s time for us both to go to bed. Alone. He walks over and takes my hand and I go with him to the door. He doesn’t open it and leave how I expected, though. He further surprises me by taking me in his arms and holding me gently. It’s a stark contrast to how we were on the couch.

  But even that surprise is nothing like how I feel when he whispers, “Even though it shouldn’t have happened, I’m glad it did. That was the best kiss I’ve ever had.”

  I’m speechless as he lightly strokes my cheek and walks away. I lock the door behind him and when I crawl into bed moments later, it’s never felt so lonely.

  Chapter Twelve: Elliott

  “The first duty of love is to listen.” Paul Tillich

  I keep telling myself that the kiss hasn’t changed anything and Darcy and I are th
e same as ever, but for every time I tell myself that, there are two more where I recall every tiny detail about the kiss. It doesn’t take much for me to remember. Oftentimes I find the memory is triggered by the simplest of things: a passing fragrance, the sound of laughter, the breath of anything soft against me. That’s all it takes, and I’m back on her couch with her in my arms. She is soft and needy against me. She’s desperate and she wants me, as much as I want her.

  I want her more than I want anything.

  At night, when I’m alone in bed, because I’m always sleeping alone these days, if I close my eyes, I can still feel her around me. I feel her fingers tickling my inner thighs, I know where she is taking them. And I want her there. Her fingers. Her mouth. Anything.

  That night on her couch, I forced myself to back away from her, knowing that if I didn’t, I would take her every single way I had ever dreamed of taking her. So I made myself stop. Even in bed by myself, I won’t go down those fantasy paths anymore. Too much heartache, wanting things that will never happen.

  Unfortunately, as much as Darcy and I had said we would stop so that things wouldn’t be awkward between us, things are different. I’m not able to name what it is exactly that’s changed, but it’s there, all the same. It’s very strange, we still talk on the phone, we still text, but there’s a difference in it, an awareness perhaps. I don’t know. All I know is I miss my best friend and want her back badly.

  It’s been two weeks, and we haven’t seen each other face-to-face since that night. It kills me, because before too long, she’ll be headed back out of town. Usually I know her schedule like the back my hand, but she hasn’t sent one to me lately. I’m afraid to call and find out why. I’m afraid I’ve lost her.

  If Darcy in my fantasies months ago kept me awake, thinking she might not be my best friend anymore won’t let me get to sleep at all. Of course, I haven’t asked her to see me face-to-face. It didn’t used to be this hard. Seriously, we’ve been friends for how many years? It’s never taken any thought or effort. If I want to see her I would go and see her. But now it seems everything has an underlying meaning. Or at least every time I think about going by to see her or asking her to meet me for dinner, I catch myself wondering if she’ll see or take something the wrong way.

  Add to that, the fact that she is still seeing Tate, and I’m a complete basket case.

  I don’t know how many dates they’ve been on, I’m quite positive he’s kissed her by now. The thought of someone else kissing her makes me want to punch something. Instead, I’ve been working out my frustrations in the gym. The team is better because of it, and I’m in the best shape I’ve been in since… well, a long time.

  It’s Saturday night and I’m alone in my apartment eating a frozen dinner I cooked in the microwave. The meal is horrible; it tastes like plastic and I can barely chew it for fear of chipping a tooth. I stand up from the stool at my kitchen island and throw it away, disgusted at both the dinner and myself. I need to do something before I turn into a recluse who only communicates with grunts.

  Tomorrow is Sunday. Sunday is the only day Darcy allows herself to sleep in late. Unless she has plans, she rarely gets out of bed before ten. I’m going to be at her house tomorrow at ten thirty and take her to brunch. It will be a light and breezy day, no talk of kisses or what might’ve been. We’ll be completely normal and by the end of the day, it’ll be like that kiss never happened.

  * * *

  As planned, the next day I arrive at her townhouse promptly at ten thirty. I’m feeling great. The sun is shining, there’s no rain called for anytime soon, heck, even the humidity isn’t bad. I park my car and hop up the stairs to her front door. I feel so good I’m actually humming. I ring the doorbell and then knock on the door for good measure. “Wake up, lazy tail, I’m taking you out for brunch.”

  I’m smiling as the door opens, but it’s not my best friend and the most beautiful person in the entire world who answers the door. Oh no, the universe isn’t that nice to me. It’s Tate.

  Fucking. Tate.

  Opening her door.

  We stare at each other in stunned silence.

  I should probably say something, but I don’t know what. Take, likewise, looks equally confused.

  “Tate,” I hear Darcy yell from the bedroom. “Who was at the door?”

  I hear her walking towards us right as Tate opens the door further to let me in.

  “It’s Elliott,” he says.

  I step inside, ignoring Tate. I have to or else I’ll punch him because I’m pretty sure the fucker has kissed her by now. I focus on Darcy.

  She’s gorgeous of course and dressed to go out. She’s wearing my favorite sundress, the blue one that makes her look divine and she’s curled her hair, which she rarely does, but always makes her look even more stunning. I can compliment her dress or her hair. I can tell her I was just in the neighborhood and decided to stop by. But it’s clear what I need to do, and I sure as hell don’t want to do it, but so help me, God, I will.

  I take a deep breath and make sure I’m not looking at either of them when I speak. “I obviously came at a bad time. Thought I’d surprise you, but joke’s on me because you surprised me instead. That’s what I get for not calling first. It won’t happen again.” I pause and then start to laugh. I can’t help it. “Sorry, I seem to be saying that a lot. It won’t happen again .”

  I risk a glance at Darcy and she looks absolutely mortified. Her mouth is hanging open and her face is all red. Even worse, she’s so close to tears, I have to turn away. I don’t look at Tate. “I’m so sorry Darc,” I whisper. “For everything.”

  I stride out the door and down her driveway as quickly as possible without it being considered a run. I’m fucking moron. What the hell is the matter with me?

  “Elliott,” someone calls from the house, but it’s not her. It’s him.

  I think about continuing, but I stop because I have to man up. I am, after all, the one responsible for this. I’m the one who pushed them together. It’s only I didn’t know it was going to be so painful.

  Tate is from Tallulah Falls. He obviously spent the night.

  “Elliott.” He’s by my side and reaches out to touch my arm. “I thought I asked. I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?” I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.

  He takes a deep breath and I watch him, curious as to what he’s going to say.

  “I didn’t know you were in love with her.”

  Chapter Thirteen: Darcy

  “Give me one friend, just one, who meets the needs of all my varying moods.” Esther M. Clar

  I watch Tate run after Elliott from my front windows while at the same time I’m fighting to keep my tears at bay. Tate catches up to him and Elliott actually stops to talk with him. I hold my breath, ready to run outside if Elliott hits him. I’m pretty sure he will, he had that look about him. That is when he wasn’t looking at me as if I’d ripped his heart out of his chest and stomped on it in front of him. I’ve never seen that look before and I hope to never see it again.

  As soon as he stormed out, I’d all but yelled at Tate to go get him and bring him back. I have to hand it to Tate, he didn’t hesitate a second before running after him. I watch in awe as the two of them continue to talk. What in the world are they discussing?

  The obvious answer is, of course, me or at least some combination of subjects pertaining to me. However, in the time I’ve been seeing Tate, I’ve come to learn that he is very private. I doubt he will tell Elliott much, if anything, about our relationship.

  However, the fact Elliott hasn’t punched him yet leads me to believe Tate at least told him we haven’t slept together, regardless of the fact that Tate had spent the night under my roof last night. To be honest, I’m still working that one out for myself because had Tate given me any hint he was down for it, I’d have been all over him last night.

  Part of me feels as if I should thank Tate for claiming my guest room so qu
ickly and setting boundaries that didn’t include sex. I haven’t made up my mind yet if I really want to sleep with Tate or if I just want to try and erase the kiss with Elliott. Realistically, nothing will erase it and even thinking that is enough of a reason for me to stay out Tate’s bed.

  But, I can’t lie, another part of me feels like the world’s biggest skank for thinking about sleeping with Tate when he’s nowhere near that same page. I long to sit down and talk this feeling I have out with Elliott. In the past, it would never cross my mind not to discuss it with him. All of that was before The Kiss, of course. The kiss that was never supposed to happen and yet it did and in doing so, it rocked my world so hard, I’ve yet to recover.

  In my driveway, Tate and Elliott are making their way back toward my house with Tate leading the way. I step out of the window so it won’t appear as if I’ve been spying and smooth nonexistent wrinkles from my dress. At least I don’t feel like crying at the moment.

  Tate makes it inside first and is all smiles, while Elliott looks like a condemned man on his way to the executioner.

  “I asked Elliott to join us for brunch.” Tate sounds cheerfully optimistic announcing this, but I catch a hint of worry in his voice, he probably doesn’t want anyone to notice it, but oh, well.

  “Thank you, Tate,” I say and finally look at Elliott. His expression is void of emotion. He’s good and he can do that with his facial features, but he can’t do anything about his eyes. His eyes tell the truth about what this brunch will cost him and I’m humbled.

  “It’s nothing, Darcy,” Tate says. “Why don’t you ride with Elliott, and I’ll drive separate so I can call ahead and revise our reservation to three?”

  I look to Elliott to try to discern if he knew Tate would do this, but he gives nothing away, so I say, “Sure,” much brighter than I feel.

  Elliott remains silent until we’re both in his car and on the highway. “You know Tate is already half in love with you?”