Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers #1)(82)

I turn away from her, willing my body to cool down. It doesn’t work. Nothing stops making every inch of me burn for her. It’s fucking torture. Platonic hugs and kisses to her forehead. Swaying her in my arms and keeping my breath steady. Every little brush of elbows and hips. The swish of her hair and its tempting scent that never leaves.

Hands slam down on my shoulders, interrupting my thoughts. I turn to face Becks as he releases his grip with a squeeze. “Smells great.”

Tucker and Rooney trickle in, grabbing toppings and fixings. Once again, my eyes snag on Willa. We stand there as if life is in slow motion, our friends circling us in a blur.

“You guys?” Tucker pokes me. I finally whip my head his way, making him jump back. “Jesus, you’re scary. You have psycho eyes. You need to go for a run or what?”

“That’s exactly what I need—or what,” I mumble.

Willa’s cheeks pink. She holds the stack of plates and white-knuckles them. When I walk up to her, her chest is heaving, a flush darkening her neck and ears. “Can you stay after dinner?” I ask.

Her eyes bug out of her head. “Um, what?”

“Just stay after they leave. I want to put something to you.”

Another one of her snort-giggles sneaks out. I’ve figured out it’s her nervous laugh. “That sounded filthy, Bergman.”

Raising an eyebrow, I take the plates from her. “Pervert. Sit your ass down and eat some tacos.”

She bites her lip, and for the first time, in a long while, she smiles like the Willa I used to know. The one who had something in life to smile about.

Tucker and Becks are college guys, so they destroy a serious amount of food. Rooney’s not far behind them, but it’s Willa I watch, picking at her black beans, popping them into her mouth like she’s willing herself to eat at all. My eyes lock on hers, as once again time and space fade to the periphery. I need everyone to leave so I can ask her. And then I need her to say yes.

Willa’s eyes flick up and meet mine. First, they widen like, whatcha looking at? But as I hold her gaze, they narrow to irritated slits.

Becks pulls out his phone. “Timer.”

“Bets,” Tucker calls.

Rooney tosses down her taco in disgust. “Nope. I am not enabling this any longer. I’m sick of Mom and Dad fighting.” Standing, she rips the phone out of Becks’s hand, shoves Tuck’s money into his shirt, and yanks both of them up by the arms. “Out. These two need to get the hell over this astronomical sexual tension and deal with it the old-fashioned way.”

Willa’s jaw drops as she looks over at Rooney.

“Seriously, Rooster?”

Rooney shakes her head. “I’m so over this. You two. Talk. Touch. Fuck. Please, God, just end the torture. I’m drowning in it. I’m contact-horny around you guys—”

“I can help with that,” Tucker offers.

Becks smacks him upside the head. “Cut it out.”

“I can handle myself fine, boys,” Rooney says before she directs herself to Willa and me. “The point is this: It’s enough. Work it out.”

Rooney drags the guys with her out the front door and slams it behind her.

Willa tracks their movement, but eventually, her head turns back my way, disbelief tightening her features. She looks wildly uncomfortable, and when Willa Rose Sutter is uncomfortable, she does not talk about it. “Well, that was out of nowhere.”

Correction. She’ll talk about it if it accomplishes downplaying or denying.

“Not really, Willa.” I stand and collect plates, stacking them until they’re a tower of teetering leftovers.

Willa sputters while she jumps up and gathers the fixing plates, sweeping shredded cheese off the edge of the table and dashing in with her handful. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I round on her, dumping the plates in the sink with a clatter. Willa carefully shoves her arms’ contents onto the counter, then turns to face me.

“I told you what I wanted at Christmas.”

“Yeah,” she snaps. “And then my mom died, forgive me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” A sigh rushes out of me. “I’m saying Rooney’s stating the obvious.”

Willa’s jaw clenches as her eyes spark furious copper. “It’s not obvious. We’re not obvious.”

“Oh?” Slowly, I walk toward her. Willa steps back in synch with me, until her ass bumps the counter. I place my hands on its surface, bracing my arms so that she’s caged inside my body. She has to crane her neck to look up at me. Her pulse slams at the base of her throat. Color floods her cheeks. Her nipples are diamond bits beneath her threadbare Mia Hamm T-shirt, and she presses her thighs together.

“Head to toe, Sunshine, says you want me. Look at me and tell me you don’t see the same thing.”

She juts her chin up, her eyes meeting mine. No beard to hide my own blush or the way my throat sticks when I try to swallow. My shirt does nothing to cover my rapid breaths. My jeans are a lost cause. No possible material could hide that I’m rock hard for her. My fingers are white-knuckling the counter. We’re a combustion reaction the moment before its elements meet.

I dip my head, sliding my lips along the shell of her ear. “Tell me you don’t see it, Willa.”

She shudders. “I see it.”