The air crackled around us, like it usually did, but this tension had a sexier kind of edge to it. A seductive quality that had my fingers itching to fist my hands in his shirt and kiss that smug look right off his face.
How did I tell a woman I couldn’t stop arguing with that she made me feel utterly alive?
I didn’t think true intimacy was possible without true honesty. But it didn’t matter how this relationship with Daria progressed, whether we were friendly cohosts or two people who had desperate, angry sex in closets. Our authentic selves were at permanent odds. And for the first time in my life, I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
There it was. That feral-sounding growl Theo made in my presence, presumably because I pissed him off. But the energy vibrating from his body was a different kind of frustrated—a coiled, controlled sexuality I wouldn’t have expected from him.
It had been two days since Daria and I had unleashed three months of irritation and sexual frustration on each other in that closet. I was now a man suspended in a permanent state of desperate longing for my raven-haired rival.