The paper cuts
From the love letter
You never gave him
Could not meet…
…Why would you say sorry?
"Black Plant" by the Last Shadow Puppets
His bottom lip was trapped between both her lips as he stood frozen in place. Both of her hands were on his chest, letting her keep her balance as she reached up, bridging the difference between them. Her lips felt like fire in the cold air surrounding them. He could feel the warmth of her hands through his button-up shirt. The kiss itself lasted only two or three seconds: their lips meeting, a slight pressure by her, the release of his lips by her stepping down, but not back.
She looked so unsure of herself. He knew his face was blank, his eyes searching hers intently. She almost looked like she was going to turn and run or flinch if he so much as moved a muscle. He wasn't going to make the next move.
"I'm sorry, House," she whispered.
"For what?" he asked, his voice quiet but not quite a whisper.
She huffed a laugh.
"For being screwed up and demanding. For not trying. For giving up. I can go on for a while."
"That's in the past now, Cuddy. You don't have to apologize for anything. It's done."
"I don't want it to be."
He took a step back from her. Something akin to fear dripped down his spine and made him weary of her. He witnessed the flash of hurt in her face.
"I think you had one too many Mai-Tai—"
"I'm not drunk! I'm not even tipsy," she growled. She took a step and closed in on his personal space again. "Do you want to know what I thought about in those two months? Wilson. My mind dwelled on his death. I couldn't see straight some days because of how—" she took a deep, shuddering breath,"—much I missed someone to talk to and lecture me. He was my best friend, too. Of course, with every thought of him, I thought of you. What were you doing? How much pain were you in? After two weeks I wondered if you were ever going to be released. I thought you were going to stay there… maybe permanently this time. Then Doctor Nolan called me and told me of your improvements… How you were working harder this time. That had been the first day I allowed myself to breathe. I thought about the two most important people in my life, every minute of every day. I've lost one and I won't lose the other."
He was taken aback by her declaration, simply because it was just that — a declaration. He could see the steadfast truth in her eyes. He looked around the parking lot, giving himself time to process what he had heard. His thoughts were focused on every word she uttered, but would not comprehend what she was saying. The lot was full to capacity, but they were the only ones standing in it. The white security lights illuminated them and darkened the scenery around them. He finally looked back at her, seeing the hope in her eyes.
"I have to go," he said slowly. "I'll — I need to think about this."
"Okay," Cuddy said. "I know you won't show up for work tomorrow but… come by for dinner… or come over Saturday. I'll be home all weekend."
He nodded, "I'm not promising you anything."
"I don't want you to."
With those words, he took the step forward and with one hand on her waist, the other holding his cane and bracing it with her back, brought her closer to him, leaning down and placing his lips on hers. He closed his eyes, savoring her warmth, feeling her smooth lips under his again and memorizing all he could in those few seconds. He let her go. She stood there for a moment, looking a bit dazed, before she mentally shook herself and reached into her purse, digging through it, and finding her keys.
"Good night, House."
"Night, Cuddy."
House hopped onto the Repsol and slipped his helmet on. He let her back out first and followed her to the exit. He watched the Lexus turn left and disappear down the street. He turned right and found himself home within minutes.
He didn't bother turning on a light in his apartment when he stepped into the welcoming darkness. The living room was silent except for the occasional hum of a car passing by.
He hung up his jacket on the stand by the door and placed his helmet on his desk. Then he stood there.
She had kissed him. And he had kissed her.
It was too good to be true. They could never continue their prior relationship on a whim. The night had gone too well. The world never worked in his favor. Wilson would have laughed at him. He was questioning himself because he was happy. Happiness was a foreign emotion. It was an alien that had crash-landed into his yard of misery and pain. He was happy that he and Cuddy were speaking. He didn't trust her, though.
There had been a niggling voice in the back of his mind that had stopped him from deepening the kiss in the parking lot.
She had been happy before with him and she had found fault in him at every turn. They had been happy together. They worked when their insecurities didn't get the best of them. Their issues were pushed out of their minds during the happy times and crushed them when they reappeared. He couldn't put up with it again.
His leg gave a twinge of pain. He limped stiffly into his kitchen, the moonlight the only thing illuminating his way. He smiled slightly. The light was coming through the same window Wilson had climbed through the first day he and Cuddy started their relationship. The same roll-away table was placed right under it. Then he remembered other times; cooking for them both, the smell of rosemary and thyme permeating the air; Wilson cleaning the dishes and complaining heartily while sipping beer; Cuddy sitting on the island, a glass of white wine in her hand and him sliding towards her side for a quick kiss while Wilson's attention was diverted. He smiled as he reached for a glass in his cupboard. He knew Wilson had seen the kiss.
As he filled the glass, the window in front of him reflected everything behind him in a blue haze. It didn't matter what time of day it was, the window always showed the reflection of the kitchen.
He sipped on his water and turned his back on the window, leaning against the sink.
Cuddy had been right when she said she didn't want to lose another important person in her life. He felt the same way. He didn't want to lose her. Being on friendly terms suited him and he knew they could pull off that façade indefinitely. But restarting their relationship was a risk. He risked losing her for good. He risked fucking up again and knew his sobriety was in danger when she would leave him. He didn't want to go through that again. The drugs, the booze, the hookers were all despicable and would probably kill him next time. If she left, there would be no one there for him. She made that clear the first time. Wilson had not even been there when he fell.
He was on his own. He wasn't going to be someone's temporary comfort.
As much as he wanted to hold her, kiss her, make love to her again, he knew he couldn't because of all the emotions still running through both of their systems. This could be only residual guilt and despair from Wilson's death. They both were trying to fill a void in their lives. Jumping into each other was a bad idea. He could already see her regretting it in a month's time.
But they had always had this attraction.
He loved her. And he was sure she still loved him. Though how much, he wasn't sure. He laughed quietly in the darkness. He wasn't sure of much anymore. Wilson had told him once he was 'the man with the answers.' He was 'the man with the answers' or 'the man with Cuddy.' Why those two titles were mutually exclusive, he didn't know. He didn't know how to fuse them together. He chose her, giving up the latter, giving in to mediocrity. I choose you, he had told her. I will always choose you…
And it had not been enough.
Self-doubt and loathing crept into his mind. He would never be enough for her. She wanted a version of him he could never be and never give her. She doubted him. She didn't and probably had never trusted him, not in the way he had trusted her. He rinsed his glass and placed it in the sink. Yawning, he walked slowly to his room, his mind still going over details of the night.
When Cuddy had appeared at his apartment the night of the crane collapse, his saving the girl had been the catalyst for her change of heart. She had dated Lucas for almost a year, was engaged for a day, and left him. One hour she was to be Mrs. Lucas Douglas and the next she was lying in bed with him, panting and whispering that she loved him. He was a fool to act so quickly, especially after she had told him that she wished she didn't love him. His heart had only heard the 'I love you…' and he was a goner. From the very beginning, she was fighting with herself. He overlooked it and ignored it until it suffocated them both. He had wanted to do the same tonight. He wanted to ignore the pressing weight of grief that Wilson's death was causing and be with her. He knew his getting clean again and going to Mayfield had convinced Cuddy that he had changed and that was being responsible. He didn't do it for her. He didn't want that to be the catalyst for a new start.
He wasn't going to let the issue pass this time.
He took off his clothes and threw them into the laundry bin in the bathroom. After pulling on his pajamas, he settled himself into bed on his back with his hands behind his head. He blinked sleepily and thought of how perfect Cuddy's warmth would be on this cool night, tucked into his side. She'd always had one part of her body touching his at whenever they shared a bed. He only complained when she brushed her feet against his legs because they were usually icy, unlike her torso. He remembered when she had purposely placed her foot on his calf once, making him flinch back. The sound of her sultry laughter had made him pin her to the bed and made her cry out that she was sorry while he tickled her and abraded her neck and chest with his stubbled kisses.
House sank into a restful sleep. It was the first night he would not dream of his dearly departed best friend.
Friday started late for him. He slept in and took his time waking up, eventually having breakfast and then soaking in his tub. He grudgingly labored over paperwork that he needed to complete for the next week and then caught up on novellas and his soaps, his mind blissfully clear. It was at five o'clock when he allowed himself to worry about going to dinner at Cuddy's. She had given him an out by suggesting he stop by on Saturday, also, but he didn't want to postpone the inevitable. He felt like a coward for even thinking about showing up at her home on Saturday. He changed into clean clothes and debated with himself for five minutes on whether to trim his beard. He didn't. Knowing Cuddy served dinner at six, he left the apartment at five-thirty.
Before he thought any more on it, he jumped onto his bike and took off.
He rapped twice on her door with his cane before she answered. She looked surprised he had come over, but quickly hid it and ushered him inside. He could hear the television on Cartoon Network and hear Rachel's bell-like laugh.
"Dinner will be ready in five," Cuddy said in greeting.
"Okay," he replied as he took off and hung his jacket and left his helmet on the floor below it. He watched her rush to the kitchen, admiring the fit of her dark jeans.
"House!"
Rachel was peeking out at him from the top of the couch. She looked bigger. She was certainly losing her babyish features and growing more into toddler-hood.
"Hey, Rachel," he said gruffly.
"Airbender is on! Watch with me?" She gave him great puppy dog eyes and she leaned over the couch top.
"In a bit," he told her with a small smile. "I'll be back," he added. She nodded, still beaming at him. He had forgotten about Rachel, but surprisingly she wasn't one of the problems in his and Cuddy's relationship. He liked the little girl and she seemed to like him. They had had late night snacks and watched cartoons together. She also was smarter than he originally thought… just slyly headstrong like her mother.
He walked to the kitchen, hanging back at the threshold to watch the woman in front of him. The kitchen smelled like spices and fresh bread. He watched her stir what he assumed was marinara sauce on the stove and move a pot of pasta over towards the sink, draining the water. She moved methodically, all of her movements precise and purposeful. She finally turned around and jumped when she saw him leaning against the doorframe.
"Shit! I thought you were still with Rachel," she gasped. She laughed airily, getting her bearings.
"Do you need any help?" he nonchalantly asked, his eyes still focused on her.
"I'm already done, actually. Wine?"
"Yes, please."
She poured him a glass of Cabernet and handed it to him, their fingers brushing. She retrieved her own glass and leaned against the counter, mirroring his relaxed pose.
"I'm glad you came, House," Cuddy said softly.
"We have a lot to discuss," he said, taking a sip of the red liquid.
"We do, but it can wait until after we eat and I put Rachel to bed."
He nodded, accepting that her routine could not change. He helped set the table as Cuddy placed Rachel on her high chair. Cuddy served them both plates of pasta and, at last, sat down with her own. The tinkle of silverware against glassware was all that was heard. He smiled at Cuddy whenever Rachel would make some "Mmm" sound, clearly enjoying the dinner her mother had made her. The food was good though the marinara should have been thicker, he thought. It might have been the Cabernet playing around with his palate, as it made the sauce faintly spicier, too. Cuddy was a slow eater so he took his time and let his eyes wander over her surroundings. Nothing was out of place. The house was still immaculately clean and tidy.
"Does my place pass your inspection?" Cuddy interrupted his thoughts cheekily.
"It does," he replied just as boldly with a smirk.
"Good. I was just wondering, since it seemed like you were running a differential in your head."
"Just thinking," he murmured.
They continued eating until their last bites and then she swiftly took their plates into the kitchen. Rachel's face was only partially covered in sauce so he cleaned her up with a napkin and took her down from her chair. She ran quickly out of the room. He could hear the pitter-patter of her feet on Cuddy's hardwood floor and the squeal she made when she found whatever she ran off to find. He limped to the kitchen, finding her mother washing dishes and the pots and pans she used to cook dinner.
"Will you dry these for me?" she asked without turning around.
He took a towel, hanging from the stove's rack, and stood beside her as she handed him dishes. It was silent except for the occasional sound that Rachel made in the other room.
"Are you going to avoid the conversation the whole night?" He finally snapped. "I could leave now and save you all the trouble."
She passed him the last pot, the large one that had held the pasta, and turned towards him after rinsing her hands. He passed her the towel for a moment so she wouldn't drip water on her floor, and resumed drying the large pot.
"Let me put Rachel to bed and we can talk."
"Sure," he replied, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
He could hear Rachel's groan of protest and begging words to Cuddy. The little girl was a natural night owl who loved staying up late and at all hours of the night. Cuddy had her on a strict schedule, though, with Rachel's early school hours and her work ones. He put the pot away and threw the towel down on the edge of the sink.
The living room was empty, with only a few toys scattered around the floor. He settled himself down on the end of the couch, in the same spot where he would lie back with Cuddy nestled beside him, he remembered. He straightened up and hunched over, elbows to knees as he cleared his head. He felt incredibly inadequate sitting on the couch, wondering what the hell was going to happen within the next few minutes when Cuddy returned. What did they have to talk about? Would they mention Wilson or talk about what had happened the night bef—his thoughts stopped as she walked back into the room.
She sat away from him, on the other end, bringing her feet up and under her. With an elbow on the backrest and her other arm on the side, she gave a great sigh of relief before looking at him.
"She's really in her terrible-twos now," she started. "I can hardly make her go to bed at a decent hour."
"She's an active kid. It's normal."
They petered off into silence again. He leaned back into the corner, stretching his arms in front of him and keeping his hands between his knees. For a moment he couldn't believe he was back in her home.
"Last night… you said you hadn't spoken with anyone since—since he died. Why not? You have your sister, other friends, maybe one of the nurses, certainly not your mother…"
She snickered and gave him a sad smile.
"I tried to," she replied. On seeing his raised eyebrow and scoffing look, she insisted, "I did, really. The nurses would just go on and on about how we'll never get as good a man as Wilson was. My sister would get bored and stopped paying attention to me five minutes into the conversation. She knew Wilson but they were only acquaintances. No one… really knew him. Not like you and I. And you still knew him better."
"He was the annoying stalker best friend," he quipped.
She gave him a reproachful look.
"Sorry," he muttered. "We clicked. He knew me better than I knew myself at times, and I knew him. We could finish each other sentences and we liked the same stuff." He laughed grimly. "Wilson was the person I had a relationship with the longest. I never knew why he stuck around."
"You guys complimented each other," she said. "In your odd round-about way he was the only person you really trusted."
"I used to trust you, too," he said. "I trusted both of you."
She shifted her position on the couch, stretching out her legs towards the coffee table.
"I hope I can get that back… someday." Her voice was wistful and sad. Gray eyes met blue and stayed locked for another moment.
"Why, Cuddy? I never made you happy."
"That's not true!" She exclaimed. "I had never been happier until—"
"We had to face reality," he interposed. "And then everything went to hell."
"It wasn't that bad."
He scoffed. "We only fought every other day. You broke up with me twice, withheld sex and used it as a bargaining tool, brought work home with you…"
She looked angry with a touch of guilt swimming around her eyes.
"I didn't realize what I was doing until—" she sighed, "Wilson pointed out how unfair I was to you. You have no idea how sorry I am for that. I made you miserable."
"And I made you miserable. I lied, I drank, I corrupted your child… We both screwed up."
She scoffed, but scooted closer to him on the couch. Her head rested against the back of it, making her posture more relaxed.
"You're good with Rachel. She missed seeing you."
"She's the only one who'll know what cartoons I'm rambling about now."
"We did start off well, House," she continued back on topic. "We ended up fighting with each other instead of for each other. Once we got together, I didn't think we had to work for it. I thought everything was going to fall into place."
"That was a delusion." He told her bluntly. "That's seeing us through rose colored glasses and LSD. You and I are not easy people."
"I know," she quietly replied. "That's why you're the only man I have a chance to be happy with."
He felt as if she had stabbed him. Her look was one of reassurance, but to his ears it sounded like she was… settling. As if she were resigned and chained to her fate. He schooled his features as neutrally as possible. He wasn't going to fly off the handle at that careless remark.
"It's not that easy, Cuddy," he said gruffly.
"I know... but we don't have to analyze everything right away. We could work-"
"No."
She looked taken aback for a moment.
"No, what?" she asked sternly.
"No, we're not putting this off. Not again."
"I don't-"
"We're not pushing our issues aside until they come up again," he continued. "We did that last time and look what it did to us. If you're serious about us, if we try again, we won't make the same mistakes."
His voice never wavered or faltered. He felt proud to stare her down and say what needed to be said. He wasn't going to be passive. He wasn't going to let her procrastinate. They were going to work together. He wasn't going to let her have her way all the time and she wasn't going to let him have his.
"Okay," she said simply. Her eyes were glassy and she looked dejected. He couldn't tell if she was feeling that way towards herself or him. She didn't move back to her original place so he hazarded the guess that she was disappointed in herself. Or in them both.
"Okay," he repeated.
This was certainly new territory for them. He could remember only two instances where they were completely honest with each other, one with nudity involved and then other with her mother dying upstairs of nickel poisoning. He slouched more in his corner of the couch, getting more comfortable. His leg was stinging but not to the point where he had to move or take more ibuprofen.
"Why do you put up with me? Again you made it sound like you're stuck with me." He was still a little hurt about her comment. He could also tangent into other issues, he thought.
"I didn't mean it that way," she started, her voice low. "I should have said I can't look or even think of being with other guys after you. I... I've never felt this way about a person, clichéd as it sounds. I love you and only you."
"That was barf-worthily cheesy."
"Shut up," she growled with a smirk. She reached out to smack his arm but he caught her by the wrist. He slid his hand towards her fingers, lightly grasping them. Their linked hands fell between them, warm and dry, giving each a feeling of comfort.
"Our first night… you didn't want to love me," he continued and laughed grimly, thinking of being in his bathroom, dirty and bloody, with her standing in the doorway. "The next day you even told me you didn't want me to change…"
Her face betrayed her discomfort and unease. Her eyes were lowered towards their hands, a shine entering into them. He felt her thumb run along his palm.
"I didn't have a reason to run anymore," she spoke a moment later. "You… scared me, House—let me finish," she quickly said when he made to interrupt. "I was afraid of you. You were always there in your own weird way for me, day in and day out. One of the only constants in my life. Hearing you speak to Hannah… you were so resigned. You gave up on me that night—you would have walked away and let me marry Lucas."
He resisted shuddering as his ex-friend's name passed through her lips. She knew the truth. He did give up on her, on them. The two Vicodin in his hands were answer enough. He would have let her go and marry the private dick. He would have watched as she glowed during her engagement. He would have drunk himself blind on her wedding day and disappeared to some filth-infested part of Atlantic City to wallow in private misery for their honeymoon. That was only as far as his thoughts led him. He couldn't think of watching her live the rest of her days married to another man.
"I would have," he answered her. "I was going to walk away and finally let you be happy."
"I wasn't. He was never you. It hit me the moment you crawled out of that hole with the girl. I only ever wanted you, not some grand illusion of domesticity."
Her grip on his fingers tightened.
"You said that then, too… and look what happened."
"House, you can't expect us to totally be set in our ways. There has to be some compromise—"
"Exactly!" he exclaimed. "We both have to work together. Us, not you, me, the hospital and who knows what else. Just us. We have to make concessions and work together. We won't work if we can't."
Her eyes mapped his face intently. He hoped she saw the sincerity in his gaze and his honest desire to compromise with her—anything to be back with her or to return to how things used to be between them.
"Just us then," she replied.
He gave her a small smile, still too unsure where the conversation would take them for anything more. He ran his index finger over her knuckles, feeling each sharp bone and the soft skin stretched over it.
"This was a good start," he joked.
She chuckled and tossed her hair out of her face.
"For us, I'd say so. Now we only have to discuss your drug use, my control issues, and anything related to the hospital."
"You make it sound so simple," he playfully glared.
"If these were simple, we wouldn't be here," she said, arching one of her perfectly arched eyebrows.
"I'm so sorry about... the others that were at the hotel," he jerked his head to the side and continued on, hoping she got his reference about the hookers.
"I can deal with that if you don't see any again... or I'll make Lorena Bobbit my new mentor."
He winced at the name and thought of being castrated while he slept. It was a nightmare he didn't want to dwell on.
"It was a stupid thing to do. Even... Wilson had been so—disappointed in me. I should have listened to him."
"We all should have listened to Wilson a little more."
"Not that much. He was still as screwed up as the rest of us. He hid it better."
She smiled sadly. He noticed she had moved an inch closer and had relaxed further into the cushion. It was getting towards the later evening and he could see she was tiring.
"Do you think there'll be a situation where you'll relapse?" she asked suddenly. "I don't want us to fight and you take that as the first chance to sneak a pill."
"I can't promise you anything. I can only say that the thought of losing you and being alone brought me to that. I couldn't cope. I also don't want to do all of that again," he emphasized. "Now, if you died... I'd be truly alone."
"What if I was hospitalized again, House? What then?" Her voice was a bit strained with the question as if she dreaded the answer. He knew there was only one correct answer even though history had shown him differently.
"I'd be there. Next to you the entire time." He felt her squeeze his fingertips. "You can pummel me with one of your do-me heels if I'm not."
She laughed, rolling her eyes at him, but smiling.
"You don't know how much I regret that night," he said softly, running a finger along hers. It felt surreal sitting there, on her couch, and with her so near.
"Me, too."
He heard her whisper that wistfully. Her smile had faded into seriousness and her posture straightened as she sat up next to him on the couch. Cuddy studied his face, her silver eyes following the line of his jaw and moving down towards his lips. She looked back into his gaze and then looked toward his forehead. With her left hand she brought it up to his face, caressing his cheek before tucking back his hair behind his ear.
"Your hair's long," she said delicately. He was grateful she was distracting him from thinking about that night. It had been the one of the most miserable nights of his life. He was brought back out of his thoughts when he felt her nails slightly graze his scalp. He felt ridiculous for wanting to lean his head closer to her. She ran her hand through his hair and pulled it back. He immediately missed it.
"I have to get it cut. It's getting too long." He took his free hand and mused his hair, letting it stick up at all angles. She laughed huskily and quietly replied.
"I like it."
They were silent for a moment before a buzzing interrupted the peace. He pulled his cellphone from its clip at his waist and saw the faceplate announce that 'Homeboy' was calling him. He clicked on the side button to silent it and force the call into his voice mail. It was Friday night, the fellows knew better than to bug him. Unless someone was dying… in which he sincerely hoped not.
"You should have answered that," Cuddy said. "It could have been important."
No sooner had see finished her words that the phone blared to life again. This time the faceplate was telling him that the 'Crock Hunter' was calling.
"Answer it," Cuddy told him, the Dean of Medicine's voice creeping in.
He huffed, annoyed, and flipped open the cell.
"What?" he growled into the receiver.
He heard the Australian's drawl slowly explain the situation at the hospital. They had two patients with similar symptoms and who were crashing. The girlfriend was going 'to burn' first by the look of her vitals but her boyfriend was right behind her. House rolled his eyes at the list of symptoms announced arrogantly by Foreman's voice (Chase had him on speaker).
"Thank you for the enlightenment," he sneered into the phone. "I'll see you idiots in a half hour."
He hung up on them and clipped the annoying device back onto his belt. He could tell Cuddy was still staring at him, looking him with serious eyes. He knew she was going to open her mouth to order him back to the hospital for the weekend. He stood up, breaking the quiet spell that had fallen around them.
"I have to go," he brusquely said.
He grabbed his cane from its resting place and began to limp into her entryway. He heard her sigh and get up from the couch, following behind him.
"That sounded pretty bad… You'll keep me updated?"
"Probably not," he sniped. "When do I ever?"
She smirked but didn't push the subject. He shrugged on his jacket, and picked up the helmet underneath it.
"I'll see you later?" he asked, avoiding her gaze.
"Of course," she smiled softly.
He nodded and turned to leave, already reaching for the door knob.
"Hey," he heard her mutter.
He turned back to her, raising an eyebrow at the woman before him. Usually when he had a call from his fellows she would be kicking him out, telling him to rush to the hospital and make sure to not do anything too illegal in so many words. He ignored her of course and did anything to help his patient stay alive, but he had Wilson there. This would be his second case without his best friend, he thought. The first time he had steadily ignored the white elephant in the room so he hoped it would be as easy again. Having two patients and the bewildered sound of his team did not give him hope.
Cuddy had stepped into his personal space again, carefully as their eyes met. She placed both of her hands at his waist and looked up at him. She was so short without her heels or shoes on, he thought. He could feel her fingers pressing lightly through his shirt.
"Come back when you're finished. I'll be here."
The way she said the words quietly made him feel as if they meant more than what she was actually saying. 'I'll be here' rang heavier than anything, but he still did not let his guard down. Two decent nights in her company did not equal a steady, new beginning.
"Kiss me good-bye? At least?"
He thought he had heard her wrong with himself being so lost in his own thoughts for a moment. His body stiffened in surprise. He felt her fingers slipping away from his person, but he grabbed her upper arms to stop her. The hurt look on her face disappeared and she was now the one to look surprised. He could smell the slight fruitiness from the wine and alcohol on her breath. Her lips parted and an expectant look glinted in her eyes.
He bent over and pressed his lips to hers. She kissed him back, standing on her toes to give herself more height. He felt her press her body to his, turning her head and changing the angle of the kiss. He stepped back when she licked his bottom lip, not sure he would be able to stop with that type of kiss. She quickly hid her look of disappointment.
"Goodnight," he said, glancing at her and rushing out of the door.
AN: Thank you for sticking with this story, dear readers! I love all your reviews, favorites, and alerts. I really appreciate it. I must thank my lovely Betas, too, and my faithful whiteboard, Iane Casey, for helping out with the tone and dialog. I wouldn't have been able to get through this chapter without you guys. Chapter 11 to come soon if real life doesn't interfere again.