Slowly, I move my hands to the belt loops of his jeans, pushing my fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, up the sides of his hot body. The air around us thickens, hanging heavy, too hot to inhale. His eyes don’t veer from mine as my heart pounds in my chest, matching his hastened pulse I feel under my fingertips. “I don’t want to be your friend anymore,” I say quietly. He grips my waist, yanking me closer with a shotgun-wedding urgency. “Kiss me,” he rasps in a low voice that sends tingles along my spine. I know what he’s doing.
