Luke convinced himself that if he kept going, touching Whitney would start to feel good. The cold brick in the pit of his gut would melt and it would be exhilarating, because it was supposed to be, because he was desperately grasping at straws to stifle his feelings for Abel using his commitment to Whitney.
Whitney lay underneath him, bare and shy, and he swallowed down the worst shrieks of dread in his body as he hovered above her in just his jeans.
She was a truly beautiful woman, and her affections were wasted on Luke. Her long, blonde hair fell in waves away from her pretty face—exactly the same color as Luke's, and with waves that he chopped off his own head—and her blue eyes sparkled at him with nerves—a matching shade with Luke's, though brighter and more beautiful than his.