Touch & Go by Mira Lyn Kelly Page A

buy from within.
    “So I’m guessing the vibrator isn’t actually a present
for me,
then.”
    —
    Who was he kidding? This little treasure trove was the kind of gift that just kept on giving. Possibly forever. Because
holy fuck,
it looked like Ava had bought out the entire stock of self-gratifying toys, and seeing her arsenal—knowing what it was she might be using on herself just one freaking floor away—
    He stepped behind the bar, resting his elbows in a casual stance he only hoped would cover the rock-hard, aching evidence of just how much he appreciated this very special present, indeed.
    Only then he noticed the hot burn working up Ava’s neck and cheeks looked like it had moved past embarrassed fluster and into apoplectic territory.
    “What the heck, Sam?” she demanded, her foot actually stomping the floor beneath her as her fists balled at her sides. And he wanted to laugh because like that, she was eight years old in front of him again, and he loved it so much he wanted to pull her into his arms and give her a bear hug until she squealed and kicked his shin to make him stop.
    Only then he caught a glimpse of her bedtime buddies and—hello, whiplash—she was back to the all grown-up woman he’d had a taste of the week before. Ergo, he was thinking about the noises experience had taught him she made when she was getting close and he was wondering which one of her new toys would have her making them the fastest.
    “Sam, stop looking!” she demanded, and, yeah, he knew she was right, but he’d be damned if he could tear his eyes away from what hours—hell, minutes—from now she might be working into that tight body of hers.
    “Sam!”
    And the screech levels of that plea were enough to break through.
    He turned back to Ava, his favorite flavor of forbidden fruit, and seeing the mortification burning too bright, and without the usual laughter that accompanied any embarrassment they shared, all that hot and hard riding him fizzled to brain-functioning levels.
    She was really upset.
    “Hey, Ava, com’ere.” He stepped out from behind the bar, more concerned about the hurt in her eyes than the obvious lingering effects of seeing the contents of this box. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
    He pulled her into his side. Better to avoid any obvious obstacles to a serious conversation. But the girl who’d always melted into him was stiff in his arms. “This is why I can’t ever have anything private in my life.”
    He pulled back, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”
    Her shoulders slumped and she pulled away. “I’m talking about you being into everything, every part of my life. Every corner of my home. Can’t I have a few secrets I don’t have to worry about you shining your spotlight on?”
    His fingers were still, resting at the small of her back, the contact maybe more for him than her. Especially hearing her talking like there wasn’t enough distance between them, when for as far back as he could remember the closeness they shared had been as important to her as it was to him.
    His gut wrenched, because there was only one thing that had changed.
    The sex.
    Jesus.
It had seemed so right. It
felt
so right. And when he’d looked into her eyes the way he’d been doing since they were kids, he’d seen how right she was with it too. How confident she was that their single night wouldn’t impact their friendship. But here Ava was telling him he was too close.
    “Ava, talk to me. Where’s this coming from?”
    She laughed, and the sound of it made the center of his chest hurt, because it wasn’t the laugh he loved. Counted on. It wasn’t the laugh they shared, and that was making him start to panic.
    Had he fucked everything up? Risked the one thing that mattered to him more than anything else on the planet for a single night? A single fucking night?
    Only that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the single night he’d been lying to the both of them about being enough. If it had