Not About Love

Chapter Three

Braden shifted his hold, bringing me closer, his mouth seeking mine once more. He kissed his way down my jaw, trying to get me to raise my head. "That's probably dinner," I whispered against his lips, my fingers lacing through his hair. I felt dizzy, my skin tight. One more kiss, then I'd stop.

Right. One more kiss.

The doorbell chimed again, this time accompanied by a hard knock. I jerked at the sound, popping the bubble we were in. The moment was over, and not a second too soon. I slid down his body, my feet hitting the floor, and I swayed forward. I caught a flash of teeth as he bared them in a grin. Pulling the sides of my shirt together, I fumbled with the buttons. Braden stood watching me for a moment before he retrieved his own from the floor and put it on. "I'll go get dinner."

I nodded weakly before I gave up on the shirt. I slipped out of the kitchen and down the hall to my bedroom, where I stripped off the offending clothing and pulled on a sweatshirt and a pair of ratty sweats.

I wasn't trying to make myself look as unattractive as possible. The outfit was comfortable. It also happened to work as man repellent.

When I walked back into the kitchen, Braden was busy setting take out containers on the counter, lining them up before pulling open the flaps. The scent of greasy Chinese had my stomach clenching. It was the day catching up with me, I told myself. The store had been busier than usual, the budget was driving me batty, and my cold had progressed as the day wore on. A good night's sleep, and I'd be okay.

He glanced over as I stood beside him. "Don't get all dressed up on my account." I scowled at him as I reached for a plate. We moved silently down the assembly line he'd set up before we made our way into the living room.

My house was small. No, make that tiny. Barely seven hundred and fifty square feet, I'd done everything I could to make the most of the space. The living room boasted walls painted a warm golden color, and one of my few big expenses before I'd moved in was to rip out the old flooring and replace it with hardwoods.

Given what I did for a living, you'd expect the walls to be lined with bookshelves. When I'd tried to imagine the room full of books, though, it became claustrophobic. The single tall set of shelves in the corner held the books I'd read again. And again. And would probably read again in the near future.

The couch was one of those couch/lounger deals, with one end a chaise lounge. I settled into my usual corner, the one with the lounge, and tucked my feet under me. I balanced my plate on my knee and poked at the fried rice on my plate. It was the most innocuous dish he'd ordered.

It's food, I scolded myself. You eat it so you won't starve. "How much do I owe you for the food?"

Braden paused in his food shoveling to chew and swallow. "Don't worry about it. You can owe me."

"Owe you two meals? I don't think so." I lifted a forkful of rice and stuck it in my mouth.

He lifted a brow. "Doesn't have to be meals."

Wha...? I caught the glint in his eye. "No. Nuh uh. Not happening."

"Why not?" He sounded mildly put out.

I set the plate aside, appetite gone. "Do we really have to have this conversation? Fine," I said, meeting his bland stare with one of my own. Holding up a hand, I ticked off points. "One, we're friends,yeah?" He nodded. "As I've seen every movie ever made about friends who hook up, it will not end well, because this isn't Hollywood. Two, I'm emotionally stunted enough as it is. I don't need to add another screwed up relationship to it. Three, it's just curiosity. It'll pass, eventually, and since we've kissed a few times, we can guess what it would be like, so there's no real need to find out. And do I really need to mention four, in which I remind you I don't date and you only keep women around for maybe two months at a time?"