13 - Noah

13

Noah

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to get out of this date. Inviting Melissa out to dinner was a spur-of-the-moment decision after a wonderful lunch. I’d been enjoying her company, and I wanted more of it.

But now that we were back at my place, I was having second thoughts.

Melissa was a patient of mine. I could joke about loopholes and non-payments all day, but deep down I knew that what I was doing was wrong. That truth became more glaring the longer the date went on, and the more I realized I liked her.

I liked her a lot . Which made this so much more difficult.

And that wasn’t even talking about the fact that she was leaving as soon as her ankle was healed. Whatever this was, it had an expiration date. Some guys might have loved that, but not me. When I fell for a girl, I didn’t try to get rid of her after.

All of it pointed to one incontrovertible fact: doing anything more with Melissa was a mistake, no matter how much I wanted to.

Which sucked, because I really wanted to.

So I politely showed her around the house like I was a real estate agent, and not a date. When she got close, I stepped back. When her fingers brushed mine, I walked to a new part of the room to show her something different.

Then she asked the big question: “But are you sure this wasn’t just the pretext to get me to come home with you?”

“I promise it wasn’t,” I replied.

Something sparkled in her eyes, like curiosity. “What if I was hoping it was?”

Daaaaaaaaaamn. There it was, confirmation that I wasn’t just imagining all the little clues she was dropping. A storm raged inside me as she waited for my reaction, staring up at me with those big eyes while I was consumed by indecision.

“You’re my patient,” I managed to get out.

“Technically I’m not.” She smiled, and I felt it like a caress. “That’s what you said when you asked me out in the first place.”

My inhibition was rapidly deteriorating the longer I stared down at her, so I turned toward the table and repositioned one of the airplanes. “Yeah, but it’s still bending the rules. We shouldn’t.”

She was there behind me, leaning ever so slightly against me. Her body was soft and warm and made me buzz with life. “We’ve already bent them,” she whispered, placing her drink down. “What’s a little more bending?”

I turned, and my last protests died away at the look she gave me. A look of complete desire and vulnerability, letting me know what she wanted with more than just words. For a brief moment, she was an open book. I had to kiss her. Every moment I didn’t kiss her was a tragedy, a wrong that needed to be righted.

She must have felt the same way, because before I could make a move, she kissed me .