Pieces of Perfect by Elizabeth Hayley Page B

him with a tool belt had nothing on what he just shared , and it turned me on thoroughly.  My body and soul felt for him, were attracted to him. This man was a single father and had finished school to make certain that his daughter could get everything she deserved.
    “How about you?” he asked, casually. “What’s your story?”
    “Not as impressive as that, I’m afraid.” I was still blown away. I described my upbringing and my history with my parents, how I’d gone to Penn to become a lawyer, but just couldn’t go through with it.
    “Well, I’m glad you decided to become a teacher. Eva really likes you.” He reached across the table and took my hand, stroking the top gently with his thumb. “And I think I’m beginning to see why.”
     
    *              *               *
     
    As Adam walked me to my door, I realized my fears about what we’d talk about had disappeared as quickly as they’d arrived. Conversation with Adam was easy. He'd told me he had a chocolate lab growing up, was a fan of The Killers, Zac Brown Band, and Pearl Jam, and loved to cook even though he wasn’t great at it. I had divulged my secret obsession with The Real Housewives and MTV’s Teen Mom and told him that the only sport I’d ever really loved was track and field. I had run throughout high school and was training for the next Broad Street Run.
     
    “I hope I can call you sometime,” he said, his green eyes staring right at me.
    “I hope so too.” I smiled sweetly at him. I wanted to grab him. Pull him close to me and feel his perfect lips pressed up against mine. Taste his tongue as he moaned inside my mouth. But my attraction to him was deeper than the sexual one I had become so comfortable with as of late.
    “Would it be weird for me to kiss you right now, Miss Hamilton?” The way he said it was seductive, cautious, kind.
    I laughed softly. So low, I couldn't be sure he had even heard it. “Under one condition,” I urged.
    He squinted his eyes slightly, curious. “What’s that?”
    “Call me Lily.”
    The corners of his mouth lifted slowly as he leaned into me. His lips found mine, and he parted them slowly with his tongue, exploring me. His hands held me tightly to him before he pulled away and kissed me on the forehead. “Good night, Lily.”
    I watched him stroll to his car. Partly because I couldn’t believe I was letting him go without inviting him inside for a drink, and partly because I just wanted to get a good view of his ass one last time.
    As I entered my room, I leaned against the door for a moment. I felt invigorated. I felt like I might actually be able to commit to a real adult relationship with someone.  I felt . . . aroused. By the kiss? Certainly. By his confident, self-assured attitude?  Absolutely.  I changed out of my dress and got into bed, willing myself to remember his voice, his strong features, and the smell of his aftershave on his smooth skin when he kissed me. I ran my hand down my stomach to the throbbing between my legs. But for some reason I couldn’t explain, I reached over to my phone, logged into my email, and opened the picture of Max.
     

Seventeen
 
    The next two weeks passed quickly. My days were filled by Max, but they all ran together and became a hazy blur in my memory. We were spontaneous, and slightly sex-crazed. And even though I still hadn't called him Max to his face, we knew each other intimately. I couldn't deny my attraction to him. I was definitely addicted to sex with Max.
     
    But despite the heated desire that bloomed between us, there were other moments, still moments. Moments where time slowed and I found myself looking at him differently: not as an object of my wildest desires, but as something more. Something resembling a good friend. I caught myself lost in staring matches with him, like we were having an entire conversation without uttering a word, especially during our lunches together, as he often joined us in the