Not even close.
In fact, when his lips part and wrap around mine, deepening the kiss, it’s a lot better than “worst.”
The closeness, the touch, the feeling of his breath on my face, the tickle of his stubble, all of it is more physical connection than I’ve had with anyone in longer than I can remember. It’s like water to a dying plant, and I can practically feel every drop rushing through my body, restoring dry, wilted limbs, giving me new life.
I’ve held back from people for so long, it should be pathetic how much this fake kiss means to me.
But then he puts one hand to my cheek, cupping it carefully—maybe even possessively—and nothing about this feels pathetic.
It feels incredible.
It feelsreal.
I’m so used to being the one who gives, who listens, who helps, who makes everything easier for everyone else. I forgotwhat it feels like to be on the receiving end of gentleness. Oliver’s careful touch reminds me that I’ve been starving myself of the very thing I freely give to others. I don’t know whether this kiss will keep nourishing what was withering inside me … or leave me dying for something I’ll never get to have.
“Now that’s more like it,” Terry says with a chuckle.
Oliver and I break apart, but he keeps his hand on my cheek for a heartbeat longer and his eyes locked on mine for one beat longer than that. I didn’t realize I’d grabbed his hoodie, but I blush, letting go of the soft material and smoothing it.
I hear Terry say, “They’ll be just fine,” and it makes me pull my eyes from Oliver’s and smile at the couple.
“Well, Maggie,” Pat says, “think your snowplow can get these two back to the hotel?”
Maggie smiles. “Let’s go.”
As they lead us back outside into the cold, Oliver puts his hand on my lower back, keeping up appearances. And as much as it hurts to hide my limp, hiding how good this feels hurts even worse.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FLETCH
Ikissed Poppy Lewis.
And I liked it.
This is all I could think of when Maggie plowed away the snow surrounding our car. It was the only thing on my mind as she handed us all shovels and she, Pat, and Terry helped us dig the car out so we could finally get on the freshly plowed road at 8:30 a.m.
And it’s been bouncing in my head for the last six hundred and eighty-six miles on the open road.
What have we done for the last six hundred and eighty-six miles?
Listened to music?
Yup.
BingedBeyond Justiceepisodes? Even debated half of them?
Yup and yup.
Talked about the fact that we kissed?
Nooope.
It’s already early evening, thanks to our delayed start and a time zone change. The fact that we’ve driven for ten hours and still have ten more to go to get to Rochester is driving me nuts. Yeah, we’ve had some problems come up, but it feels like the universe has conspired to make sure we never get to Rochester.
We’re halfway through Indiana now, and we’re going to have to stop for gas and an actual meal. Is there really a chance we won’t talk about the fact that we kissed?
I wouldn’t mind.
