A/N: Same as last chapter - both POV's cover roughly the same time period, so when it switches to Bobby, it starts over again.
Alex POV
I went to the bathroom, leaving Bobby in the kitchen.
He seemed a little shell-shocked, and I could understand that. It was a rare thing for him to see me without my shields in place, and this time was the worst one yet. I bet he'd had no idea what a mess I am on the inside.
And on the outside, I mused as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
I washed my face and took a few deep cleansing breaths, and then because I was still wearing my work clothes, I slipped into my bedroom to change. I put on a pair of track pants and a tank top and then went down the hall.
Bobby had moved into the living room, and I saw two steaming cups sitting on the coffee table. Apparently I'd been gone longer than I'd realized if he'd had time to make coffee. But I liked the idea that he was comfortable enough here to do so.
He was sitting on the couch this time, rather than in the chair on the other side of the room. I noticed he had taken off his jacket and tie and had loosened the top couple of buttons on his shirt.
I hesitated in the living room doorway and conducted a mental debate about where I should sit. He must have heard me coming because it was then that he looked up at me.
I felt a thrill race through me at the realization that his eyes were doing a slow perusal of me from head to toe.
This is Bobby, I reminded myself. Don't start imagining things that aren't there.
I decided to sit on the couch. I wanted his soothing proximity, so I sat down fairly close. Not touching, of course, but still…close. He reached for the cups and grabbed them both, and then turned to give me one.
"Thanks," I told him softly. My voice was still post-breakdown raspy.
"No problem," he assured me. And then he was quiet. He was waiting for me to talk. But when I still didn't say anything, he added, "You're going to try to play this off, aren't you?"
I instantly felt bad. I had been considering giving him the whole I'm fine, really, you just caught me at a bad moment speech. I had been considering breaking my promise.
But Bobby knows me. He knows me better than anyone, ever.
And while he may never love me in quite the manner that I love him, I did know that he loved me. He valued me as a friend. So I was going to respect that friendship, and make good on my word.
I took a sip of the hot coffee. I would've rather had another pint of vodka for its fortifying value, but I still had enough of it in me to be able to get through this conversation.
"I think maybe you have a misconception about Joe," I began. "And I'm sure it's my fault."
He shifted on the couch, bringing one leg up onto the cushion so that he could sit sideways to look at me. The change brought his knee up against my thigh.
When did I start noticing every little touch, I wondered.
"A misconception," he repeated. His eyes bore into mine as he watched me with curiosity.
I wanted to look away, to escape the intensity, but I didn't.
I wanted to know what he was thinking, but I didn't.
I wanted to touch the scruffy stubble that had sprouted up along his jaw line, but I didn't.
And more than anything, I was tired of wanting things and not getting them.
I leaned forward and set my coffee down on the table. As I sat back, pulling my leg up onto the couch, mirroring his position, I made a crucial error.
I looked at his lips. And, okay, so I didn't just look. It was more like I fixated on his lips.
And I'm going to blame it on the vodka.
Because the more I looked at his mouth, the harder it was for me to look away.
I wanted to kiss him.
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it.
And have I mentioned that I'm tired of not getting what I want?
But still, I behaved myself.
I reluctantly forced myself to look into his eyes again. And when I did, I was surprised to see something different lurking amongst the deep brown depths.
It was something that I might interpret as reciprocal interest.
And just a hint of the barest possibility that maybe, just maybe he thought of me as something more than his partner.
Maybe it was plausible that he recognized that I was a woman and not just a cop.
And that was what prompted me to do it. In very uncharacteristic fashion, I threw caution to the wind.
I kissed him.
Of all the stupid things to do…
I just leaned right over and it was such a perfect first kiss…slow, lingering, innocent, tender…
I eventually heard the censor in my head that was screaming don't do it, but not until I was about five seconds into the kiss. After a few more seconds, I forced myself to pull back.
Terrified that this would scare him away, I opened my eyes cautiously to look at him.
His eyes were still closed, as though he were savoring the moment. His lips were full from the gentle assault of my mouth against his.
Now what?
Now I wanted to throw him back on the couch and have my way with him. But that wasn't going to happen.
Because although he wasn't running away from me, he also hadn't grabbed me and returned the kiss. He had simply sat still and let it happen.
As I watched, he slowly opened his eyes and the softness in them touched my heart.
"Alex," he said quietly, sadly.
Great, the gentle let-down.
"I'm sorry," I pre-empted. I couldn't bear it if he inserted the typical I only think of you as a friend dialogue here. "I shouldn't have done that."
"It's okay. We can…um…just uh…forget about it."
Forget about it? Not fucking likely.
But I couldn't risk losing him either, so I would pretend, just like I did with everything else.
"I'm sorry," I said again, shaking my head and willing myself to act as though it were no big deal. I reached back to get my cup of coffee, but Bobby put his hand on my arm.
"Don't be sorry," he said, almost shyly. "I'd hate to think it was so bad that you'd be sorry for it."
He was afraid I thought it was bad?
"It wasn't bad," I assured him. "It was…" I stopped myself from saying something I shouldn't.
It was hopeful.
It was promising.
It was even better than I'd imagined.
"I just…I shouldn't have…sprung that on you," I said instead.
"It's okay. I…you need…we need to talk. I don't want to skip ahead."
His face flushed with his last words, as though maybe he hadn't intended to say them out loud.
I decided not to call him out on that just yet. He was right. We needed to talk.
And then maybe we'd skip ahead.
Bobby POV
I ditched the jacket and tie while I made coffee. I even undid a couple of buttons just so that I could breathe easier.
I started to take off my shoes, but then I was afraid that would make me seem presumptuous. We had just been hugging in her kitchen. If she came back to find me a little too comfortable on her couch, it might send the wrong signal.
Okay, it would actually be the right signal, but I just couldn't tell her that. Not yet.
But I was starting to think that maybe she thought about me differently than I had realized. Maybe she was seeing me as more than a cop. Maybe she was seeing me as a man.
Wishful thinking, I chastised myself.
I eased back against the cushions and then I heard her soft footfalls in the hall.
I turned to look at her and all rational thought flew from my brain.
She looked absolutely beautiful.
I was sure that she didn't think so. Her make-up was long gone, and her hair was kind of messy…messy from where I'd run my fingers through it. That thought sent a shot of arousal through me that I was completely unprepared for.
I let my eyes wander down her small frame, taking in the snug white tank top and the blue track pants. Her feet were bare. Funny, I'd been worried that my shoeless feet would send the wrong signal.
But seeing her like this, comfortable and unguarded…it was tearing my insides apart. This was where I wanted to be. Every night from here on out.
I wanted to see her in her down-time clothes…I wanted to see her without make-up…I wanted to be responsible for her hair being in disarray.
I realized that she was watching me watch her, and I forced myself to meet her eyes. She came into the room and sat down on the couch next to me.
Right next to me.
In order to get a handle on...burgeoning issues, I started running through last year's New York crime statistics in my head.
Murders…596.
Rapes…1,071.
Okay. Things were…going back to normal.
"Thanks," she told me as she reached for her coffee. Her earlier crying had caused her voice to sound like something straight out of a porn movie, all low and husky.
Robberies…23,511.
Aggravated assaults…26,908.
"No problem," I said at last.
One glance at her told me what I needed to know. She was going to try to pretend like everything was fine. But I wasn't going to come this far only to back down now.
"You're going to try to play this off, aren't you?"
I watched the emotions play across her face. She had wanted to, but she also wasn't going to let me down.
She took a sip of her coffee and then met my gaze.
"I think maybe you have a misconception about Joe," she said. "And I'm sure it's my fault."
A misconception? About her husband?
I wasn't sure where she was going. They were married. She loved him and then they had a fight and then he was killed. He was taken away from her while still in the prime of his life. It was a tragedy.
She didn't elaborate, so I tried to be encouraging.
"A misconception," I repeated.
We maintained eye contact for awhile. I was trying to see inside her mind and she was…well, I'm not sure what she was doing. I was too busy trying to read her. She seemed more relaxed after her crying jag. That was a good thing, but we still needed to get to the root of the issue.
She broke our gaze as she leaned forward to set her mug on the coffee table. I couldn't help but notice how her tank top rode up slightly in the back, exposing just a thin strip of skin above the waistband of her pants.
She sat back and turned sideways to look at me again, although she was still quiet. And then I noticed her gaze drop.
She was looking at my mouth.
And she was doing it in such a way that had me holding my breath.
And once again, rehashing statistics.
Holy Mary Mother of God, did she know what she was doing to me?
I don't think so.
If she did, she wouldn't be doing it right now. Not when I was supposed to be offering a shoulder to cry on.
But because she was, all I wanted to do was push her back on the couch and…
Damn. She'd looked into my eyes again, and I don't think I hid my feelings fast enough. She tilted her head a little, and a questioning look passed over her face.
And then in the next second, while I was on to larcenies and grand thefts, she leaned over and kissed me.
It was just a soft press of lips, a simple and chaste action, and yet my mind kicked into overdrive.
She's kissing me!
What does this mean?
What should I do?
We can't be doing this!
It was my last thought that kept me from initiating any further action. She was hurting.
She was thinking about Joe. That's why she kissed me. She was remembering what she had with him, and she was projecting it onto me.
A perfectly understandable response, and yet…I didn't want to face that reality.
Because to me, that kiss had been a taste of heaven. And as soon as it was over, I knew I would have nothing but my memory.
So, even as she pulled back, I stayed still and kept my eyes closed.
Commit it all; don't forget a thing, I told myself. I wanted perfect recall.
After a moment, I forced myself to open my eyes. She was watching me with trepidation.
"Alex," I said.
So many different thoughts were storming my brain that I couldn't decide where to start. But I didn't need to.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly.
It broke my heart to know that she realized she'd made a mistake.
"I shouldn't have done that," she added.
She didn't want me. She wanted her dead husband. But I couldn't let her feel bad about that. I wasn't about to lose her as a friend just because she regretted her actions.
"It's okay. We can…um…just uh…forget about it."
"I'm sorry," she said again, shaking her head and reaching for her cup of coffee.
I had to lighten the mood. I had to say something that would get us out of this awkward situation. I put my hand on her arm.
"Don't be sorry," I said.
Please, God, don't be sorry. Hopefully the kiss had some redeeming qualities…
"I'd hate to think it was so bad that you'd be sorry for it," I teased gently.
"It wasn't bad," she replied. And she smiled at me. "It was…"
She hesitated, and I found myself trying to fill in the blanks.
Enticing?
Arousing?
Hopeful?
"I just…I shouldn't have…sprung that on you," she said. That didn't sound completely like regret.
I started to breathe again.
"It's okay," I told her. "I…you need…we need to talk. I don't want to skip ahead."
I realized the implication of my words as soon as they left my mouth, and I felt the heat creep up my face.
Skip ahead.
As though we had somewhere to skip ahead to.
But she just gave me a smile - a lovely, expressive, cat-ate-the-canary kind of smile.
"Okay then," she said. "Let's talk about Joe."
TBC...