This time, I reached across the console to gently put my hand on his. “And I’m glad you feel that way.”
“We really haven’t known each other that long, but it feels like we have. I feel like you really get me, and not just the deeper stuff, but the dumb stuff too. Who else am I going to talk to about obscure freaky indie movies and books about how wonderful and fucked-up your twenties can be?”
“And disrupt my very busy workday with these conversations.” I grinned and squeezed his hand a little tighter.
As much as I think I can keep my cool and composure, these were things I simply didn’t have experience with—boys, dates, confessions in a Jeep after a long night out. But the thought of the unknown didn’t make me nervous. Instead, I felt that call of the void again. Ready to jump in.
“I know I’m notsupposedto date.” He threw the wordsupposedout like a curse. “But for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel really good, and you have something to do with it. I almost think fighting this—whatever this is—is worse than just letting it happen.”
He was so close now; close enough that I could count the faded web of freckles under his eyes and smell the vanilla ChapStick on his lips. “Being around you, feeling the way I feel and not acting on it, it makes my whole body ache.”
“I know.” I sighed. “I ache too.”
He pressed his thumb against my chin and tilted my head up to look up at him. His lips brushed against mine, so soft and so subtle I had to second-guess if it even happened.
“What should we do about this?” He was practically breathing his words into my mouth.
My chest was on fire, but I craved the burn. I craved him. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
His eyes darkened, and I felt a storm coming just by looking at him. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
After fumbling through my purse for my house keys, I led him onto the dark of the porch and through the front door. We said a quick hello to Gracie, who barely lifted her head off the couch, side-eyeing us like we had such audacity to disturb her sleep.
When we entered my room, my face blanched in horror. I had forgotten how much of a mess it was, with both my and Nikki’s clothes in piles on my carpet. Books were stacked against the wall beside my bed, and my desk looked like a hurricane had come through and upended all of my makeup, nail polish, and picture frames. Moonlight danced through the open window, giving the room just enough light that we could see the shapes and shadows of the mess, so I kept the lights off.
Brooklyn wove across the carpet, slowly slipping off his suit jacket and placing it delicately over the back of my desk chair. He lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, and I couldn’t help but grin, seeing his large frame so out of place on my tiny bed, surrounded by fuzzy purple pillows and a paisley-patterned comforter.
“I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” I said breathily, running my hand through my hair. “Getting ready this afternoon was a disaster, and I haven’t had time—”
“Would you stop fussing?” He chuckled. He stretched his arms out to me. “Come here.”
After kicking off my heels, I walked over to him slowly and stood between his knees. His hands grazed up my bare legs to the hem of my dress, leaving blistering heat on every inch that his skin touched mine. I gripped his shoulders to steady myself as my head filled with static.
“Hi,” he whispered against my mouth.
“Hi, yourself.”
He gently bit down on his lip. “Can I kiss you now?”
I felt him squeeze my hips, and my body clenched in anticipation.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
He gently ran his hand up the crook of my neck, letting his thumb brush over my lips before kissing me. Every movement of his was soft and gentle, and he tasted like everything good and sweet in the world. It was even better than the first time, and I wondered if it would feel like this every time we kissed. His hands explored me eagerly, from my flushed cheeks, through my mess of hair, to my neck, and down to my waist. Heat radiated through me, to the very deepest and darkest parts of my body.
I broke away for a moment and went to tie my hair up, but he grabbed my wrist.
“Leave it,” he said in a husky voice. “I like your hair down.” There was a pause as I felt him smile against my mouth. “And I like you.”
Tiny fireworks went off in my chest, and I couldn’t breathe.
“I like you too,” I said softly.
He kissed me again, and I felt like I didn’t even have to come up for air. It was as if he had breathed life into me.
He reached around me and found the zipper of my dress with ease, pulling the tab agonizingly slowly, as if he wanted to feel each of the teeth separate one by one. When it was finally undone, he tugged it over my head gently, discarding it on the floor.
“Wow,” he said breathlessly, reaching up to smooth my hair back.
