My heart stops. Full on stops in my chest, until I’m convinced I might have just died. Elliot’s words may be slurring, but he’s looking at me with complete steadiness. His attention keeps snagging on my lips, and for one glorious, horrifying second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
But then, he pulls back.
“You don’t even know, do you?” he asks. He twists until his back is against the tree too. Our shoulders are touching, but at least his face isn’t so close to mine. I breathe unsteadily and he lets out a quiet laugh. “You’re impossible, Secora.”
“I don’t understand?—”
He shifts again, kneeling in front of me. Bracing one hand on the trunk behind me, he uses the other to cup my face. His hazel eyes study mine, flicking occasionally to my mouth.
I suck in a breath, holding it there until it’s painful.
“Elliot—”
He runs his thumb across my lower lip, and I gasp.
Everything stops. My heart. My lungs. My thoughts.
“I’m drunk,” he says. He stares at my mouth, at his thumb still tracing my lower lip. “It’s hard to keep my thoughts in my head, so I might just let them out.”
I’m too stunned to speak. Luckily, Elliot doesn’t seem to notice.
“You’ve got the prettiest mouth,” he says. “Prettiest eyes. Prettiest everything. It’s very unfair. I don’t know how I’m supposed to concentrate when you’re this pretty. How I’m supposed to not kiss you all the time.”
His eyes drift back to mine. The warm alcohol haze is still there.
“I keep trying to ask you out,” he says quietly. His thumb swipes my lip again, moving to trace the upper one too. “You always say no. I tell myself it’s because I’m not making it clear. That you don’t realize I’m interested, and I’m too much of a coward to make sure you know.”
Elliot moves his hand from my mouth, and I almost cry out at the loss. He cups my chin, tilting me until I’m looking up at him.
“But I’m drunk now,” he says. “So if you reject me, I can hide behind my intoxication the next time I see you. We can pretend it was only a joke.”
“Is it?” I ask. My voice is shaking, and I’m dizzy from the fact he’s still touching me. That Elliot Lyrie is touching me and saying these impossible things. “Is it a joke?”
“No,” he says. His thumb is back on my lip, and his throat bobs as he swallows.
“Because if it’s a joke, it’s not funny,” I whisper. “You obviously know I wouldn’t reject you, so if this is an ego thing?—”
He kisses me. So suddenly I’m not prepared for it. One moment,I’m rambling, and the next, his lips are on mine. Soft and warm and sure. He’s kissing with the confidence of someone who has kissed a lot of people, and I’m scrambling to keep up.
Our teeth clank. Our noses bump. I’m trembling so hard I can’t concentrate on what I’m doing.
“You’re shaking,” he says, pulling back abruptly. The alcohol haze is still in his eyes, but there’s intensity there too. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” I say, and tomorrow, I’ll be mortified at how needy I sound. “I just—I don’t know how.”
“You’re doing good,” he says. He brushes his thumb across my jawline. “I can slow down if you want.”
I shake my head.
“Just…I’ve never done it,” I say. As if he hasn’t figured that out, as if he doesn’t already know. “Tell me if it’s not good.”
“It’s good,” he says. Then he kisses me again, slower, firmer. His lips taste sharp, like the alcohol he’s been drinking. I wouldn’t know how to name it, but I decide it’s my favorite flavor in the world. Between soft presses of his lips, he whispers. “It’s so good, Secora. So fucking good. I knew it would be.”
With shaking hands, I grab the shoulders of his shirt, pulling him closer. I don’t let myself think beyond this moment, not about whether he meant what he said. Not about whether he’ll regret it once he’s sober.
I lose track of the minutes, of the hours. I have no idea how much time has passed, only that my lips are numb by the time he pulls away. He places a hand over my head, against the tree, briefly scanning my face before looking over his shoulder.
It’s only then I realize why he stopped.
