Chapter 1
PR Tip #7:Doing the same thing and expecting different results isn’t optimism. It’s a liability.
The thing about a first kiss is that it’s almost always awkward. You don’t know each other’s moves. Where do you put your hands? What angle will the other person go for? Will they lean left? Right? What if you bump heads or noses? Do your eyes close preemptively or once it’s begun? What if you’re a gentle kisser and he comes in teeth first?
Unfortunately, I know the answer to that last question.
The signs that a kiss is coming are almost always the same, though. The lean toward one another. The eye contact that you hold longer than necessary before your gaze drifts down and thenback up. The slight parting of the lips. That half-second pause where everything stops and you know it’s about to happen.
How do I know? I’ve had forty-eight first kisses. That’s how. I could give a full TED Talk on the anatomy of a first kiss. The ins and outs. A study in first-time smooches.
To be clear, forty-eight first kisses doesn’t mean forty-eight dates. I’ve been on far more than that—plenty that never made it anywhere near a kiss because I knew things wouldn’t work out early enough to spare us both. The forty-eight are the ones I actually thought were promising.
Just don’t ask me about a second kiss. Because I’ve never had one of those. Not in all my twenty-nine years.
“I had a great time tonight,” I say, looking up at my date as we stand outside the door of my apartment on a Monday night in July, the warm North Hollywood breeze carrying the scent of cut grass as it teases tendrils of my dark-brown hair that have fallen out of my low bun. It was the best I could do, having had only ten minutes to get ready before he picked me up.
He being Joshua. My date. The man with the sandy-blond hair and an impeccably tailored button-up shirt and suit pants, who’s taken me on three dates so far and who I’m pretty sure is about to kiss me right now. For the first time. First kiss number forty-nine.
“I did too,” he says, his eyes penetrating mine. And yep, they just moved down to my lips and then back up again. All signs are pointing to go.
I hike my purse up onto my shoulder, the strap catching on the cap sleeve of my favorite little black dress, where hopefully it will stay put. This is another one of those awkward things. No one tells you what to do with your purse in times like these.
He takes a small step forward, a hand going to my hip, and I feel the sudden warmth of his hand through the thin fabric.
Nice moves, Joshua. He knows what he wants. I like that. I like him. He’s just what I’ve been looking for: practical, but charming. Intelligent, but not condescending. Successful, but not braggy. Funny, but . . . well, he’s actually not all that funny. Most of my laughs during dinner were of the courtesy variety. Which is fine, because Joshua can’t have it all.
His head dips toward mine, our faces mere inches from each other now. I can smell the spicy cologne he wears. Hints of bergamot and leather. There’s also a hint of garlic on his breath from dinner. Would it have killed him to take the mint I’d offered in the car?
Okay, focus, Claire. It’s time to kiss Joshua P. Waters, lawyer extraordinaire. I learned all about his career on our first date, where he regaled me with the story about how he made partner in six years. The first one in his firm to do it that quickly. So maybe he’s successfulanda little boastful. No one’s perfect.
I lean in, shifting my weight from one black heel to the other, looking up, a soft smile on my face. One that saysLet’s do this.
He takes a quick breath, his green eyes searching my blue ones like he might find an answer there.
“Can I kiss you, Claire?” he finally asks.
I won’t lie: I miss the old days when a guy would just lay one on you. Heart pounding, breaths mingling, tensions rising. Those fiery but not-quite-expected kisses that make your toes curl, your spine tingle, your skin burn.
I agree that consent is important. All parties should be in agreement about what is going to happen. But also, it’s kind of obvious what’s happening here. No TED Talk necessary.
Keep your eyes on the prize, Claire. You’re about to be kissed.
I nod only once, and that’s all the confirmation Joshua needs. His hand moves from my hip to my back as he pulls me toward him, his other hand moving up to my face, his fingers lightly cradling my jaw. I wrap both arms around his strong waist, feeling muscles bunch underneath his linen shirt.
This is happening. Here we go. The kiss is about to commence. Lucky number forty-nine.
Pleasebe lucky.
His lips part; his mouth inches toward mine. He drags the moment out in a lovely, almost torturous way before he finally closes the gap between us.
It’s go time.
Okay, this is good. This is very good. Joshua and I are kissing. And it’s . . . well, good. Tender, delicate, and thoughtful. He’staking his time, not moving too fast. There are no teeth involved, thank goodness. Not bad. Not bad at all.
We play this back-and-forth dance for a bit, lovely and light, before I angle my head ever so slightly to the side. He takes the hint, deepening the kiss, moving us from unhurried and sweet to something hungrier, more insistent. The hand at my cheek moves to my upper back, pulling me even closer.
I think we’re really vibing here. This is some high-level kissing. And it’s happening. We’re actually doing it. I think this could be it. This could really be—
