His hand came down over mine—warm and grounding. “I’m sorry.”
The simple contact made my throat tight. “Thanks. It kind of derailed everything. I didn’t get the normal middle school or high school experience. I was just trying to survive, trying to become what my aunt needed me to be.”
“That’s a lot for a kid.”
“Yeah. I buried myself in studies, art…anything to keep busy. Social stuff always felt like another world. I was outside looking in, watching everyone else have a normal teenage life that I couldn’t figure out how to join.”
His thumb brushed my knuckles, sending shivers racing up my arm. “What kind of social stuff?”
Heat crept up my neck. Dangerous territory. But his voice was patient, and that encouraged me to keep going.
“Dating and parties,” I said. “All that typical stuff. I just…never did any of it.”
“Never?”
I shook my head, cheeks burning. “I was always too focused on school, on surviving, on not being a burden. I was all about my degree and my future.” My words faltered, but there was no going back. “I’ve never even…kissed anyone.”
Wade went utterly still. His hand tightened, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something else—something darker and heavier.
“You’re serious?”
I laughed weakly, nerves shoving it out of me. “Pathetic, right? Twenty-three years old and not even a kiss.”
“Not pathetic,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “Not even close. Just…unexpected.”
We finished eating in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. His hand never left mine, and the truck seemed to hum with something alive, something sparking between us. The heater fogged the windows, cocooning us in our own little world.
When we tossed the wrappers into a bag, Wade turned to me fully. The dashboard glow painted his eyes darker. They almost looked navy blue.
“Brielle,” he said slowly, “about that kissing thing…”
My pulse skittered. “Yeah?”
His gaze dipped to my mouth before coming back to mine. “I could help you with that. If you want.”
The air thickened, became electric. My breath caught.
“Help me how?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand came up, cupping my face, rough palms warm against my skin. His eyes held mine—steady and burning.
“Like this,” he murmured, and then his lips were on mine.
The world fell away. His kiss was soft at first. Warm and patient, his mouth moving over mine like he was savoring every second. His other hand slid into my hair, fingers tangling gently as if he never wanted to let go.
A sound escaped me, low and unguarded, as heat coiled in my stomach. I leaned into him, hungry for more, every nerve in my body lighting up under his touch.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard, the air between us charged and unsteady.
“How was that for a first kiss?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.
“Perfect,” I whispered, my lips tingling. “Absolutely perfect.”
His thumb traced my cheekbone, his gaze dark with something that made my pulse race. “We should probably get back,” he said, though he didn’t sound all that convinced.
“I don’t want to,” I whispered before I could stop myself.
His eyes searched mine, and whatever he saw there made the corner of his mouth twitch like he was fighting a losing battle.
