Impulsive by Jeana E. Mann Page B

spun and left him standing alone on the rooftop, mired in confusion. He scratched his chin and cursed his stupidity. She obviously wasn’t in the same place he was. He wanted more. And she wanted friendship.  
    “Tasha, wait up.”
    The sight of her backside slipping from sight spurred him into action. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d done, but knew he needed to make things right with her. The thought of anything standing between them made his chest ache. He took the stairs two at a time, hoping to cut her off at the elevator. By the time he reached her floor, she was unlocking her door.  
    She hurried into the apartment, tossed the wet towel into the utility room, and toed off her shoes with a puzzling air of calm. When she headed into the bathroom, he followed her, bumping into her as she turned to close the door behind her.
    “Excuse me?” One of her elegant eyebrows arched at his impudence. She knew how to put him in his place with a look, in a way no one except his mother could do.  
    “We need to talk,” he said, uncertain exactly what they would talk about, but convinced some words needed to be spoken.
    “Well, duh, hot shot,” she said. The adorable furrow between her brows begged to be touched and smoothed by his fingertips. “I get it. But we sure as hell aren’t going to talk about it in here.”
    “Right. Um, I’ll give you a minute.” Feeling like a complete and utter ass, he backed out of the bathroom and flopped onto the sofa. The door banged shut behind him. With his heart pinging against his ribs, he turned on the TV and flipped through the channels while his mind tried to analyze the sound of the bang. Was that an angry you’re-such-a-douchebag kind of bang or more of an oh-my-God-I-wish-he’d-just-leave kind of bang?
    Whether she liked it or not, they were going to hash out whatever was going on between them. This constant back and forth had to end one way or another. He hoped she felt the same way he did, but he began to steel his heart for disappointment.  
    Ten minutes passed, then twenty. He knocked on the door once more and prepared himself for whatever came next.

      “Just a second,” Tasha called out. It wasn’t like her to avoid confrontation, but the scene with her mother had stirred up all of her emotions, and she needed a minute to pull herself together. She braced a hand on either side of the sink and drew in a few deep breaths to slow her racing heart.  
    He’d never kissed her before, and she’d been caught unprepared. It had been easier to disassociate her emotions from him when it was just sex. She brushed shaking fingertips over her swollen lips, reliving the feel of his mouth on hers. Those few, interminable seconds had unleashed a tangled knot of feelings, both frightening and exciting. That kiss, that one act, had changed everything, and she had no idea how to deal with it.  
    Shit, shit, shit.  
    The room seemed too small. The walls closed in around her, the air thick with her discontent. She shoved a hand through her hair and wiped the smudges from beneath her eyes. This couldn’t happen. Whatever this was had to stop. She didn’t want to end up like her parents. Sooner or later, Luke would find a nice, sweet girl and leave her out in the cold. She’d go back to random one-night stands. Life would go on, but she’d be without her best friend. A future without him seemed inconceivable.  
    She opened the bathroom door and gave Luke a weak smile.  
    “We need to talk about this,” he said. “About us. About what’s going on here.”
    “I know,” she replied.  
    They stared at each other in silence. She crossed her arms over her chest to contain her skittering heart. This was it. Things were going to be said, things that might change their relationship forever, things that would hurt them both.  
    “You shouldn’t have kissed me.”
    “Why?” he asked in a thick voice. “Explain it to me, because I just don’t get it.”
    “Because we’re