Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

LUNA

I 'm spent. My arms ache, my legs ache, even my fingers ache. Plus, I've devoured my body weight in pizza for lunch, and I just made us both grilled cheese with a tossed salad. I. Am. Done.

Zach pats his rock-hard stomach through his fitted, black T-shirt. "The nutritionist is gonna be stoked when she finds out what I've eaten today. You're a bad influence."

I wave a hand in front of me. "Ah, you probably worked it all off anyway. Plus, you run and work out every day. Live a little, Evans."

Kicking my feet up on the tiny couch, I rest my legs across his lap. He has one arm along the back and a bottle of beer in his hand.

He looks down at my bare feet and purple, manicured toes and raises a brow. "Comfortable there, Rocket?"

"Yep," I reply, popping the p. "Just missing the foot massage."

He leans forward, sets his half-empty bottle on the table, and turns his head to look at me properly. "Seriously? You want me to give you a foot rub? I've been ripping up the spare bedroom floor all day." He wiggles his inked fingers in front of me. "You might have pretty toes, but these bad boys are tired."

"Pretty toes?" I laugh. "Is that some kind of backhanded compliment?"

"They're genuinely pretty toes." Taking me completely off guard, he runs a finger along the top of my right foot. "I could probably get both of your feet in one of my shoes."

I pull my foot away quickly. It's insanely ticklish. But the shot of electricity his touch evokes travels way further through my body than normal.

A smug grin pulls at his lips. "You're ticklish aren't you."

"No."

"Don't lie; no one likes a liar."

"I'm n?—"

I don't get time to finish my lie because he's on me, pinning my legs down with one muscular arm. I'm no match for him, but I give it my best shot to break free from the torture.

"Woah, you're wild!" he barks out.

"I'm not above using violence!" I scream as I continue to thrash around, my fits of giggles beginning to exhaust me. His calloused palms and fingertips make the sensation even more unbearable.

"Give it your best shot, Rocket."

He's laughing now, and despite my crazed state, I notice the gorgeous smile breaking out across his face—one I haven't seen in so long, its absence clear even from social media posts. He looks light and free and everything I want for the man who deserves it all.

Temporarily distracted by the happiness radiating off him, I stop kicking. When he notices, he stills his hands too, until all we're left doing is staring at one another for a moment too long and for the second time today.

It might be the fun we found earlier, even in the most menial tasks like painting. Or it could be this moment right here that makes me believe that pulling my legs off his lap and rising to my knees is absolutely the right idea. As I place my left hand against his chest, he never breaks eye contact with me. And when his eyes fall to my mouth, I take a chance on something I've thought about doing since freshman year. I hover over him as he sits on the couch, but he doesn't say no. His tongue swipes across his bottom lip, and I close the space between us entirely. His lips are soft and full as they move over mine. His breath teases my skin as it sends waves through my body, pooling at my heat.

The way I want him.

The way I've always wanted him.

I let out a soft whimper that seems to ignite him as his hands come under my ass, lifting me to straddle his lap. He deepens the kiss, his tongue peeking out to caress mine.

Oh, holy fuck can he kiss.

I want to do nothing but kiss him forever.

I'm drowning in his touch when he pulls back, and the loss I feel is instant. My hand flies to my slightly swollen lips, the feel of his facial hair still dancing across my skin.

"Shit, fuck. We shouldn't have done that." Zach squeezes his eyes shut.

It's like all the ties to my blissful suspension are cut, and I come crashing down to earth with a bang. "W-what? Why?" Surely, he felt the undeniable pull between us. I can't be imagining it. I still have the goosebumps as evidence.

"You're my friend, Luna, and I'm…I'm not in a good place right now. I can't give you whatever it is you think I can. I'm fucking broken, torn up and damaged, and I'm not about to get involved with anyone only to hurt her. Especially not you." He runs his hands up and down my sides in a soothing motion, like that's supposed to alleviate the total embarrassment and rejection tearing through me. "You mean too much to me."

I pull back off his lap and come to stand in front of him between his slightly parted legs. Crossing my arms over my chest, I fight back the tears threatening to break free.

God, I feel like such a freakin' idiot.

What was I thinking? I totally misjudged this. Of course, Zach Evans sees me as a friend. I couldn't be any further from his type. "Okay, I understand. I'm really sorry. I don't know what I was?—"

"Hey, it's cool, Luna; it's fine. I'm flattered. Really, I am." He comes to a stand and wraps his arms around me, resting his chin on top of my head. "I shouldn't have kissed you back. I guess you've been a lifeline for me since I've been home. The one good thing, caring for me, looking out for my best interests." He lets out a heavy sigh. "We just got carried away." Pulling back, he places a hand on each of my shoulders, looking me in the eyes as he swipes a piece of hair from my cheek. "We're good, right?"

I nod and fight to stay strong. He doesn't need to see the truth, that it couldn't be any further from "good." I can save that for when I get home. "Yeah, sure."

I glance at my watch. It's not even late, but I need out and away from the painfully awkward atmosphere I've created. "I am going to get going though. It's late, and I have chores at home. I'm sure you probably want to relax, and, yeah. I'll see myself out."

"Luna."

I'm already halfway to the kitchen and grabbing my bag from the counter when he calls my name in a defeated tone. I feel sick to my stomach at the way I once again humiliated myself and overstepped.I swear to God I could barf right here—that would round off my embarrassment perfectly.

Feeling dizzy and my head spinning out, I pause in the archway separating the kitchen from the living room and see Zach still standing in the same place, his shoulders slumped, his hands shoved in the back pockets of his jeans.

I fight to wear a smile, as strained as it may be. "I get it; it's fine. I'll be over tomorrow, and we can get back to it and forget any of this ever happened."

I'm out the front door and racing to my car, trying to stay upright as waves of nausea continue to overtake me. I need to get home and hide under a mountain of blankets because, honestly, I don't think my heart can take hearing another word.