Damage Control by Elisa Adams Page B

started rummaging through the cabinets like he owned the place. His comfort in her home had never bothered her before, and it shouldn’t now. For some reason, a bit of anxiety settled into her gut. She had to bite back the urge to tell him to leave her stuff alone. What was wrong with her? This was Brian. Her friend. The one person she could tell all her secrets to. So what if he’d seen her naked?
    If only that was the whole problem. She could get past that. What she couldn’t seem to move beyond was the way she’d begged him to take her to bed. It had taken a couple bottles of wine to show her how lonely and needy she’d become. She hadn’t had anything stronger than water to drink tonight, and already she could feel her resistance slipping. Would one more night really be such a terrible thing?
    Yes. Couldn’t happen. One more night with him in her bed might be her undoing.
    â€œHey,” Brian said softly. She shook her head to clear the cobwebs and glanced up at him. Concern etched his face, his eyebrows knitted into a frown. “You okay?”
    â€œYeah. I’m fine. Just tired.” Still catching up after the weekend that had blown her world as she’d known it apart. Even now, she still wanted him. Whenever she saw him, her panties got wet. Now, with him standing so close, bearing a gift in her favorite form of takeout, it was all she could do not to rip his clothes off and have her wicked way with him right there on her kitchen floor.
    And here she’d thought slipping back into friendship would be doable. She should have known it would be downright impossible.
    Her face warming, she turned away, walking toward the fridge to grab a couple cans of diet cola. She avoided Brian’s gaze until they’d settled down on the couch in front of the TV and she’d picked up the remote from the glass-topped coffee table.
    â€œExcuse me?” Brian asked, his tone light and teasing. He held out his hand, wriggling his fingers the way he always did when they watched TV. It had started years earlier, when he’d learned how indecisive she was when trying to choose something to watch.
    Andrea slapped the remote against his palm, laughing at the mock seriousness on his face. Of course, he was only half-joking. He was a guy, and therefore possessed the inborn need to hold the remote at all times when the television was on. “What is it with men and the stupid remote? Is it that hard to let a woman take control of the television?”
    â€œIt’s a security issue.” He flipped through the channels before finally settling on a local newscast. Decision made, he stuck the remote between his thigh and the arm of the couch, out of her reach unless she wanted to climb over him to get it. “If we have control of the remote, everything is right with the world.”
    She rolled her eyes. If only everything in life were so simple. So basic. As if a little silver box covered in buttons could be the answer to everyone’s problems.
    She took a bite of her pizza and closed her eyes for a brief second at the incredible flavor of it. Spicy, cheesy, and so greasy she could have blotted it with a napkin before eating. No food could ever be more perfect than this, and she knew what she was talking about. She was the queen of take-out, even if most of the time she ordered something a little more health-conscious. Though she knew how to cook and had a pretty decent collection of recipes, her schedule didn’t often allow her the luxury anymore. Plus, living alone, she just didn’t see it as sensible to cook a huge meal for one person.
    After washing the bite down with a swig of cola, she set the can on the coffee table with a thump. “There are bigger problems with the world around you than who holds the remote control.”
    â€œYeah, but this is an issue I can fix immediately.” The intensity in his gaze hit her right where it counted and made her gulp.