Free The Key by Penny Reid Page B

thumb, “In all the years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you sip anything…” he trailed off as his thumb finished its labor, ceasing at the corner of her mouth.
    She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes, laughing softly. Tipping his head to the side- drinking in her face- his heart constricted in his chest painfully. Why did he torture himself this way? He knew she would never look at him as anything but a friend- eighteen years of platonic closeness proved that.
    Why did he put himself through this agony? How long had he loved her? He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t dream about her, when she wasn’t his first thought in the morning and his last thought before he drifted off to a listless sleep. She had always been everything he had ever wanted and everything he could never have.
    His eyes drifted from the smooth, white skin of her face to the rough, calloused hand that held it and cruel reality sunk into his bones. Reluctantly, he withdrew his hand from her face and set the beer on the table. Rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palms, he walked to her front closet and grabbed his jacket from the hanger.
    Her lids drifted open and her eyebrows shot up as she realized his intent, “Where are you going?”
    Standing, all sleek and feminine, with a glass of chocolate milk in her hand she stared at him; he masked his turmoil with a blank face of indifference as he tried not to notice the accusation in her tone; he shrugged, “I’m going home.”
    She set her glass next to his untouched beer on the table, “But- but you’re going to miss Saturday Night Live.” There was an edge of disappointment to her voice.
    “Anna…” he shook his head.
    “Anna what?” Her eyes narrowed as he turned toward the exit. Guessing his movements she dashed to block the door, holding the knob. She nearly collided with his hand. “Jake… you’ve been acting strangely all day.” She searched his face as he took a step away from her, “What is going on?”
    Shaking his head- not meeting her eyes- “Nothing. I just have to get going.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.
    “Well…” she paused, seemingly looking for something to say. Finally, she squinted at him suspiciously, “Are you trying to get out of the gallery opening? Cause you’re going whether you like it or not.”
    He shook his head, “No… I said I would go…”
    She scrunched her face and moved away from the door slowly, bewilderment clearly etched on her features, “If there is something wrong, I wish you would tell me.” Standing directly in front of him she tried to catch his eye.
    Finally he looked up, his gaze impassive, “I have to go.”
    She gritted her teeth and placed her hands on her hips shaking her head, “Fine.” She expelled on a terse huff, moving to the side so he could pass.
    He tore his eyes from her delicious form to the door. Hesitating for a moment, he licked his bottom lip. Shaking his head almost imperceptibly, he walked past her to the door- yanking it open and charging through it. Rushing down the stairs he felt heat rise to his neck and- flexing his jaw- his stomach felt like it had sunk to his feet.
    As he climbed on his bike his heart was screaming at him to go back, but his mind- logic- was urging him to leave. He struggled- bringing his hand to his brow. All at once he could smell her perfume; a familiar ache formed in the pit of his stomach and it steeled his resolution. Straddling the big bike, he flexed his jaw with resolve as he sped away.
    ~*~
    Anna Hamilton sighed impatiently. Her chiffon Gucci was making her stomach itch and the four-inch Armani heals were pinching her toes. She strained her neck towards the entrance, hoping to catch a glimpse of him- but he was nowhere in sight and she was getting tired of hodgepodging with the stiff rich. He was two hours late. He was never late.
    An elderly woman dressed in a lavender pants suit approached her- she was wearing a thin, but polite, smile and