One Week (Halestorm)
“Slap him. After all, she’d been the one to backpedal when he got called away. Now? She wasn’t saying anything.
Her eyelids lowered and a lock of hair fell across her eyes. Michael took her face in her hands and kissed her.
Slow this time. An easy meeting of tongues, hers tasting of minty toothpaste, his probably tasting of— “You’ve been drinking.”
“Yeah.” So his still tasted like Lagavulin. “I had a drink with my brother. When it went badly I had another.”
Her eyes opened wide again. “How did you get back?”
“Tom drove.”
Elise nodded, but didn’t answer. Her top teeth sank into her plump lower lip and Michael’s heart rate sped up to a gallop.
He slid one hand along her shoulder, pushing the robe she wore—his robe—aside. “Is this okay?”
Her expression turned to one of confusion. “You weren’t so tentative earlier when you had me grab the door of your apartment and asked me to catalogue my body modifications.”
“I’m sorry.” He tried for a smile.
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