Need Someone | [Complete]

Chapter 22: Need Someone

The rest of our dinner was much less awkward. It took a while, but the hesitation faded away, and slowly but surely, the Ziggy I knew came back. I lost track of time, staring into his eyes while I laughed, watching him smile when he made me laugh, too. We ate our lobster, finished our champagne, and stayed for so long, the waiter asked us to leave so they could clear the table. It felt like we only had an hour together when we had nearly three. Six months of distance was too much to make up for in one date.

We walked outside where I intended to call my Uber. He pulled me to him, pinning me gently against his car. He leaned in and kissed me so perfectly my head floated. I let him hold me, let his kisses linger.

"Come home with me," he said against my lips. I knew that was a bad idea.

"I shouldn't." He coaxed me back into his kiss. His tongue slid against mine before taking my lips again. I hummed and pulled him closer. Once again, my body was delivering the complete opposite message than my brain intended. "I really . . . shouldn't," I said between his sensual kisses.

He leaned away. "Why not?"

"If I go home with you, we both know what's going to happen."

He looked away with a laugh. "I didn't say anything about sex. I just don't want to let you go yet."

I didn't want him to either. "Then let's go somewhere else."

"Exactly. Let's go back to my place." He placed two more kisses against my lips.

I knew if I agreed to go home with him, there would be no way I'd be able to resist him. The last thing I needed to do was sleep with him before I had time to sort out what I was feeling. But every time he kissed me, all I could think about was just that.

He opened the car door for me. I hesitated but got in without another word. What am I getting myself into?

He drove us back to his place. His hand had rested on my thigh the whole time, his finger tapping with the beat of the old indie classics playing. I watched him, trying to read whether something else was hiding behind what seemed like joy. But, every time he had looked my way, there was nothing but a smile. I didn't know why I couldn't manage the same.

We walked inside and I was quickly reminded how cool his place was. The double-height space looked much larger when it wasn't filled with people. The furniture that had been piled in the loft area was now situated in the living space. Warm, brown couches and sofas, another reclaimed wood coffee table, and a plush rug. He didn't have a TV, but apparently, had a whole-house sound system.

A mellow version of what we had listened to in the car played quietly in the background. The slow beats were a perfect accompaniment to the dimmed lights and lounge feel of his space.

"Can I make you a drink?" he asked. I wanted to say no but I wanted the distraction from my anxiety even more.

"Sure."