There had been times, mid-argument, when I figured pushing up onto my toes and bringing my mouth to his might actually shock the life out of him. But typically those deeply traitorous thoughts were quickly replaced and became secondary to the urge to smack him upside the head.
But here and now, in the overly warm cab of Brady’s truck, my eyes lingered. I took in the wide shape of his mouth, the plushness of his lower lip. That ridiculous mustache that didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of growing on his perpetual baby face. My phantom gaze slid to his cheek. I knew exactly where his dimple would appear if he’d just turn back into himself and stop being this weird, serious version who apparently didn’t smile. Or look at me. Or answer my questions.
I swore this was the one time I actually needed his big mouth to talk.
Well, he’d never been particularly good at giving me what I wanted, but, honestly, that was part of the fun.
So I made a decision. One that was reckless and irresponsible and, frankly, desperate. I leaned forward, keeping my eyes on my target. With one hand, I braced myself on the center console, and with the other, I snagged the front of his ridiculous puffy vest, pulling him toward me.
Brady’s head snapped up, and his confused expression was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and planted my lips firmly on his.
He made a sound of alarm, and I wondered briefly if he thought I was trying to attack him or suck his soul out or something. That had me smiling against his mouth, my lips separating as they widened in amusement.
But then I felt Brady’s hands come up to gently cradle my face. His touch traced the length of my jaw before grasping my chin—a firm press into the divot below my bottom lip. The long fingers of his other hand pushed into my hair, and it was my turn to make a sound in the back of my throat. Brady’s mouth opened with mine, and I felt our tongues meet in the middle, a tentative pass at first—more cautious and timid than I ever expected either one of us to be. However, with each stroke, we grew bolder.
It didn’t take long. Foreign attraction surged through me, not unwelcome but sure as hell unexpected. I was hot all over. My initial goal had been distraction. We were well past that now, and I couldn’t stop, didn’t want to. We kept kissing and touching.
My fingers tightened into a fist, still trapped between us in the fabric of his vest so I could keep him close, exploring his mouth and sucking on his tongue.
One of his hands smoothed down the side of my neck. He was so warm, and I liked the weight of his rough hand and the pressure of his fingers wrapping around my nape, drawing me closer.
I must have been too far gone, drunk on this unforeseen detonation of lust and the way our kisses had turned frantic and sloppy, because I wasn’t the least bit worried he’d shift his hold and strangle the daylights out of me. I was fully in the moment, groaning as he sucked my bottom lip into his mouth and gave it a firm bite.
I fully intended on doing that right back—grazing my teeth over the lush bottom curve of his mouth and making him squirm in return—but a moment later, an engine revved somewhere close by. We broke apart abruptly as the sound intruded. There were two more loud growls of a big redneck truck before someone else honked a horn and hollered.
Brady and I stared at one another, chests heaving, as the commotion carried on behind his vehicle. The bonfire was breaking up. People were leaving.
And I was in Brady Judd’s front seat where I’d just kissed the hell out of him.Oh my God.
I watched as his eyes dropped to my lips, and some shameless hussy inside me shouted,We should do that again! For science!
But then his blue gaze met mine and widened. “What the hell was that?!”
“I don’t know!” I shouted back, unprepared for his reaction.
Brady stared at me in bug-eyed astonishment.
I felt defensive all of a sudden. “I don’t know,” I snapped. “It got you to stop freaking out about Connor Pritchard, who is honestly not worth the effort.” I noticed Brady’s gaping mouth and inability to speak and amended, “But now you’re freaking out about this, so I’m not sure it was the best decision.”
He visibly made the effort to speak several times, but nothing came out.
“You look like a dying fish,” I observed helpfully. “I never thought I’d see the day you were stunned into silence.”
“Congratulations,” he choked out.
My gaze strayed to his lips. “I know that mustache is still in its infancy, but it kind of tickles.”
“I’ve been growing it for over a month,” he replied flatly.
“Whoops. My bad.” I grinned. This sort of teasing felt good. We were getting back on track. Back to normal ... if you didn’t count the making-out thing.
“Are we going to talk about this?” Brady said seriously, pulling us out of the familiar once again.
“About what?” I attempted.
I thought I might have pushed him too far because he gestured wildly between us. “Your face! My face!” Then he smooshed his hands together in a violent back-and-forth.
I snorted in amusement, and he glared.
