Chapter 193: Chapter 193

Kyra POV

I stare up at him, trying to catch my breath from walking too fast. Or maybe from being so close to him in this small space.

"What were you doing out there?" he asks. "Eavesdropping? That's not like you, Kyra."

I shake my head and try to find my voice.

"No. I was looking for you so I could say goodnight and thank you for playing the songs for me. I haven't seen you play since I was a little girl. I guess I just wasn't expecting to see you with Sydni. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize."

Backing up a few inches, he glances down at my legs.

"You skinned your knee."

He grabs a paper towel from a shelf next to the washing machine, runs some cold water on it from the sink, and kneels down in front of me. He gently dabs at my knee with the paper towel, then tosses it into the trash.

I wait for him to stand, but he remains kneeling in front of me, his hand on the spot behind my knee. Tor has fixed many booboos for me over the years, and maybe he's thinking of all those times, like I am right now.

We've reached that odd moment again where the lines of who we are to each other have been blurred.

More like obliterated.

I reach out and move my fingers through his long hair, my nails grazing along his scalp. He places a soft kiss right above my skinned knee before he finally stands, grabbing my waist and lifting me effortlessly up on top of the clothes dryer. He moves to stand between my thighs. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches behind him and locks the door.

"Nothing is going on with Sydni. She just likes to push my buttons and piss me off."

His hands are on my waist as he talks, and I have no idea what to do with my own. Right now they're white-knuckling the edge of the dryer.

"You don't have to explain, Tor."

"Yeah, I do. I don't want you thinking she and I are back together. Things are just getting really complicated."

"Does she think you're getting back together?"

"I don't know what goes on in her crazy brain but we are definitely not together. A few weeks ago we talked and she asked for another chance."

"What would that be then, the hundredth chance?" I ask, unable to hide my sarcasm, which is attempting to cover up my fear of her getting him back.

"Something like that. But that was before you and I... talked."

He says nervously, his eyes shifting down between us and then back up to my face.

"So you're not going to give her another chance?"

"No."

He shakes his head.

"I can't even consider that when all I can think about is you, now can I?"

Finally, he's saying the words I've been waiting so long to hear.

"I can't stop thinking about you, either," I say, my voice shaking in tune with my trembling insides.

"I want to show you something. That's why I pulled you in here. It's kinda your birthday present."

I'm confused as he slowly lifts his shirt up until my eyes land on his chest, right above his heart. There’s a new tattoo of the scribbled heart drawing I made for him when I was a little girl, with the words 'I love you the most' beneath it. My breath catches as I stare at it.

"When did you get that?"

"A few weeks ago."

He moves even closer and my heart tries to break free from my chest to jump into his as he leans in to whisper in my ear.

"Do you still mean it?"

"Yes. I always will," I say breathlessly.

He leans back to look into my eyes as he pulls his shirt back down.

"Good. Because it's there forever now."

"I'll mean it forever. I promise."

On impulse, I lean forward and touch my lips to his for a stolen kiss, and he inhales sharply in surprise.

"That's what I want. So fuckin' bad," he whispers with a raspy voice as he leans his forehead against mine. "Kiss me again. Then I have to get out of here."

His hands tighten around my waist in encouragement as he waits for me, and my insecurity kicks in. He’s waiting for it, wanting it, and not pushing me away. I don't want to disappoint him by kissing like an eighteen-year-old virgin.

Even though I am.

Reaching up, I grasp his wide shoulders and pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his waist before tilting my head up to meet his lips that still have a slight taste of my birthday cake. He lets me drive the kiss, not pressing further or taking control, which I wish he would do. I want him to pull me closer and kiss me deeper like he did the other times we kissed, but he's not. He's completely still, breathing against my mouth, waiting for me.

I open my eyes to find his dark and fiery, staring into mine. Our mouths linger against each other, while my heart is fluttering in my chest like a hummingbird. He's all man between my legs and under my touch — wide, rock hard, and powerful. He smells of rain and woods and grease, and it's provocative in this tiny space of detergent and bleach. I want to pull his shirt off and run my hands over his smooth muscles, kiss him in places I've only dreamed about.

His nose nudges against mine, his lips brushing across my cheek.

"You can do whatever you want," he whispers, as if he can feel all the things I'm thinking.

I want to do everything.

But there's some kind of disconnect between my brain, my heart, my hands, and my lips. In my mind I pulled him closer, ran my hands under his shirt and over his chest and abs as my lips trailed down his neck, chasing after my hands, tasting him, kissing the words on his chest.

Instead I plant a quick kiss on his mouth and pull away, untangling my legs from around him as he lets out a deep sigh.

"Alright," he says, his voice thick with… disappointment?

Yes. He's disappointed. In me.

My heart and stomach sink together as I jump off the clothes dryer and he moves away from me.

"You get out of here first and then I'll leave. I don't want anyone to see us coming out of here together."

"Okay," I say awkwardly, reaching for the doorknob. "Thank you for playing the songs for me, Tor. It was amazing to finally see you and hear you play."

He nods and runs his hand through his hair before meeting my eyes again. The fire is gone from them now, replaced with their usual shroud of melancholy.

"Happy birthday, Angel."

I unlock the door and peer outside to make sure no one is milling around in the hallway before I leave the room and go directly upstairs to my own, closing my door behind me before I burst into tears.

I let him down. He gave me a chance to show him how I feel and what I want, and I let my nerves and inexperience get in the way and destroyed the moment.

Once again, that bitch called reality is knocking on my door, here to remind me that regardless of how we feel, I'm still a teenager, and he's still a grown man. No matter how close we might be sometimes, we are still worlds apart in so many ways.