51
I had no idea how many seconds—or was it minutes?—we’d been standing there, simply staring into each other’s eyes. Neither of us said a word, but I could feel the tension thick between us, crackling like electricity in the silence. It wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt... charged. Intimate. Like we were both trying to memorize each other’s face, trying to decipher what two weeks of silence had done to us.
God, I missed those eyes.
Those hazel eyes haunted me every night while I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. I saw them when I closed my eyes. I saw them in my dreams. And now, they were here again—alive, real, locked on mine. They hadn’t changed. But the rest of her had.
I was right. Her cheeks had hollowed out. Her face looked sharper, thinner. Two weeks, and she’d lost weight—and not in the way people usually celebrate. It looked like heartbreak had whittled her down. That realization twisted something sharp in my chest.
My gaze dropped to her lips. Slightly parted. A little dry. I remembered how those lips always puffed up when I kissed her, how soft they felt under mine, how they used to curl up into that smirk when she teased me. I had kissed those lips more times than I could count. And yet, right now, I felt like I hadn’t touched her in years.
God, I missed her.
She cleared her throat, pulling me out of the spiral I was falling into.
"You haven’t changed your clothes yet," she said softly, her eyes flicking down my body and back up again. “So... you just got home?”
I blinked, needing a second to process her question. Right—my clothes. I hadn’t thought about that at all. Hadn’t even kicked off my shoes, come to think of it.
“Uh, yeah,” I nodded, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “I guess so.”
Better not to explain how I sprinted from the living room straight to her door like my life depended on it.
She nodded slowly, still watching me.
“Can I... come in?” I asked, feeling awkward. She hadn’t exactly invited me in, just opened the door and stared. And I didn’t want to assume—especially not now.
“Oh. Yeah. Of course,” she said quickly, stepping aside and gesturing toward the living room. I walked in as she shut the door behind us.
The moment I crossed the threshold, I was hit with the scent of her home. That same subtle mix of her perfume, clean linen, and the faintest trace of the coffee she loved so much. Everything was the same. Same couch. Same books on the shelf. Same throw blanket we once shared when we had movie nights curled up together.
You were gone for two weeks. You really expect the whole place to have changed?
I shook the sarcastic thought out of my head and turned to find her leaning against the door, watching me. She was trying to act casual, but the tension in her posture gave her away.
“How... how are you?” I asked hesitantly, walking toward the island counter. I didn’t know what else to say. I suddenly felt like a guest in a stranger’s home instead of someone who used to know every inch of it.
She followed me to the kitchen and opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer.
She handed one to me wordlessly.
“Umm,” I hesitated. “I better not.”
She raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“Okay,” she said with a small shrug, returning one bottle to the fridge before chugging almost half of hers in one go.
I watched her carefully, trying to read her mood. Was she angry? Nervous? Was this a good idea? Was I already regretting it?
“Who was that girl, Jen?” she asked suddenly, not looking at me.
Her voice was calm, but I noticed the way her jaw clenched. The way she chewed the inside of her cheek. She was trying to seem unaffected—but it was there. The jealousy. Burning under the surface.
I almost smiled.
“That?” I began, but she cut me off.
“You know what, never mind,” she said sharply. “You don’t need to answer that.”
She drained the rest of her beer and cracked open another one.
“Emma...” I tried.
“Hm?”
I checked my watch. It was almost midnight. Not that I was in a hurry, but Anne was waiting. She was doing me a favor, and the last thing I wanted was for her to get in trouble because of me.
“Why am I here, Em?” I asked quietly, searching her eyes. “Why did you want me to come over?”
She stared back at me. “Why did you text me?” she countered.
I opened my mouth, then closed it. The words got stuck in my throat.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “When I saw you earlier, I just...”
I couldn’t finish.
She placed her beer on the counter and stepped around to my side.
I thought she was going to sit on the stool next to me, but instead, she stepped between my legs. I froze.
Without a word, she leaned in and kissed me.
It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t like the other kisses we used to share. This was hungry. Fierce. Possessive. Her lips tasted like beer—bitter and sharp—but I didn’t care. My eyes fluttered shut.
She kissed me like she was trying to say everything she couldn’t speak aloud. Like her lips were a language only I could understand.
“When I saw you with that girl,” she said between kisses, “I just wanted to grab you...”
Her mouth found mine again.
“Take you away from her…”
Another kiss—deeper this time.
“When she took your hand in hers…”
The kiss turned rough. Her hand tangled in the back of my hair, tugging gently.
“When you left with her…”
Her other hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer, hard enough to steal the air from my lungs.
“She called you babe…”
Her lips crushed mine, tongue pressing past them, hot and desperate. I moaned into her mouth.
“And you didn’t even look back.”
Her teeth grazed my lower lip—biting, punishing. I gasped.
God. A jealous Emma is dangerously hot!
Her hands moved up my arms, caressing me over the fabric, setting my skin ablaze with her touch. I tried to reach out, to hold her, but she pinned my wrists to my thighs, refusing to let me take control.
She wanted to show me how much she missed me. She wanted me to feel it.
I did. In every kiss. In every bite. In every aching touch that sent fire shooting through my veins.
“Emma,” I whispered breathlessly. I needed air.
“Jen,” she panted, leaning her forehead against mine. Our noses brushed. Our lips hovered close.
“I hate seeing you with someone else,” she whispered fiercely. “I. Hate. It.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, pecking her lips.
Her eyes opened, brows drawn tight in confusion.
“That was my sister, you know,” I said softly.
And then it happened.
Everything slowed down like a scene in a movie. Her eyes widened in slow-motion horror. Her lips pressed into a tight, embarrassed line. Her hand lifted.
I braced for impact.
Smack.
I flinched, even though I was wearing long sleeves. It still stung.
“Oh my God. You—!” she started.
“Shhh!” I hissed. “The neighbors will hear you!”
That only made her angrier. She swatted at me again, landing light slaps anywhere she could reach. I tried to shield myself, ducking and laughing all at once.
“I tried to tell you!” I gasped. “You cut me off!”
Her glare could’ve incinerated me on the spot.
“And for the record,” I added, grinning, “I didn’t exactly mind what you were doing just now.”
She groaned and pushed her hands through her hair, pacing the kitchen like a wild animal.
“You’re such a tease!” she growled.
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