We lay together in silence for a while, the movie we were supposed to catch conveniently forgotten. We can do this for hours, just be quiet and peaceful and not have to say anything at all. I've never had that with anyone before.
“Your heart is beating really fast. I can feel it beneath my cheek.” My voice, though quiet, seems absurdly loud and I immediately wish I hadn't said it. It feels a lot like one of those lines we just don't cross.
“Shut it,” he drawls, wrapping his long fingers around my small wrist to feel my pulse. “So's yours.”
Even though we haven't really said much at all, this is still the closest we've ever come to talking about or feelings for each other, the romantic ones we pretend not to have.
When I tilt my head up to see his face, I find he's already looking down at me. Gone is his usual smirk, his playfulness, his carefree nonchalance. His eyes are hooded as he watches me, filled with want and lust and suddenly I'm finding it hard to breathe. I'm surrounded by him, totally and completely. His heat, his very presence, even his smell. Spicy cologne and smoke and the faint hint of antiseptic from working in the tattoo shop and Twinkies, because he found my secret stash earlier and ate them all. I'm surrounded by him and I like it. I adore it, way more than a friend should. No other friend has ever made me feel the way Reid does. No other guy has made me feel the way he does, not a single one of my past boyfriends.
“Jemma,” he murmurs desperately, pressing his forehead against mine. He drops my hand and cups the side of my head. His hand is so large that the bottom of his palm touches my chin and his fingers still thread through my hair.
Reid's breath dances over my lips, warm and tempting and sinful. All I want is to let go, to let him in. Our lips brush, just the tiniest of secret whispers.