His lips curl on one side as a cigarette rests between his teeth. “Dean Philips,” he replies before lighting his cigarette and taking a drag. “You mean to tell me you take cigarettes on a university campus… where there’s a strict no drugs or tobacco policy?”

I shrug my shoulders with a growing smirk as he hands me a cigarette. “Guilty. Can I get a light too?”

He steps up, flicking his green lighter as I inhale, letting the smoke fill my lungs. It’s harsh… much harsher than my menthols, but it eases my muscles and mind all the same. His gaze holds mine as he places his between his lips again. The cherry glows in the darkness.

The air around us feels energized. I can’t explain it. The way his gaze holds mine can be felt all over my body. It wraps around my limbs, dances in my gut, and sets fire to my blood. Suddenly, it’s five years ago, outside that pub in Portland. The urge to pin him against a brick wall and devour his mouth is strong, almost too strong.

Would his lips feel as soft, yet firm, as before?

Would he taste the same?

Would his body pressed against mine feel just as good?

I’m dying to fucking know, and it almost physically pains me to refrain. I told him we could be friends, and I have to honor that. No matter how much it kills me.

We’re wrapped up in our bubble of sexual tension and smoke for a few minutes, before he drops his cigarette on the ground, putting it out with his boot. That seems to break the spell.

“Well, I should get going. Got some grading to do tonight. But, uh, this was fun. Thanks for asking me out—uh, asking me to come out. Fuck, you know what I mean.” He laughs nervously, averting his eyes.

“I had fun too. Thanks for coming.” Really, Stone?! I couldn’t have used a different phrase. Jesus. “Have a great night, Cash. I’ll see you later.”

God, I’m so fucked.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

Cash DeMarco

Walking through my front door tonight, I’m more confused than ever. What the hell was that?! The entire evening was bizarre… but then outside, smoking. What the actual fuck?

I throw my keys in the dish on the kitchen counter, sliding out of my shoes, and emptying out my pockets. All while replaying every single word exchanged with him tonight. Every smile. Every smoldering fucking gaze from him.