Page 82 of A Solid Guide to Surviving a Situationship

I looked away again, pressing my lips together, trying to hold back a smile.

“Let me see that smile,” he demanded, but in a soft way.

I tried hard not to. The lord and savior Lady Gaga knew I tried hard not to.

But it slipped.

Just a little.

And he caught it. Of course he did.

“There it is,” he said casually, like he had won a match.

I exhaled, shaking my head, but I didn’t look back at him immediately. Because now, I could feel it—that old, dangerous familiarity creeping in.

And when I finally looked at him again, he was already watching me.

Eyes steady.

Unmoving.

And suddenly, the space between us didn’t feel like a table. It felt like tension. Like memory. Like something unfinished.

“Did you clean?” he asked.

I knew exactly what he meant.

“Kyle stop,” I warned.

I did, actually.

“I wanna fuck you so bad,” he said in a low, sensual voice.

His begging eyes were pure, hot passion—darkened by lust. They were wide and soft in a way that demanded my surrender.

My chest tightened.

Heat pooling low, uninvited, inconvenient.

GOD!

This was a mistake.

And the worst part? I wanted to commit it anyway.

The door barely had time to close before he was on me.

Kyle’s hands were everywhere—pulling me in, grounding me, undoing me—his mouth crashing into mine like he had been holding it back all night.

There was no buildup.

No hesitation.

Just raw, immediate, reckless heat.

I kissed him back just as hard, fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer like I hadn’t spent the last hour pretending I didn’t want this.

God! This was a mistake!