I should move. I should step out of his arms and laugh this off and say something self-deprecating to make it less mortifying. Instead I just stand there, close enough to feel his warmth under my skin, my fingers still twisted in the front of his shirt.
Connor looks down at me, and the air changes.
His gaze drops to my mouth.
My heart gives one hard, painful thud.
For a second neither of us moves. I can feel my own breath coming too fast. I can feel his hand tighten just slightly at my waist, like he’s thinking about it too. Like he’s right there on the edge with me.
I tilt my face up before I can stop myself. Connor’s eyes flick back to mine. His mouth parts a little. Then he goes still.
“Are you feeling better?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yeah,” I say, because I can’t seem to say anything else.
I let go of his shirt. He steps back. And just like that, the moment is over.
“Let’s go take some pictures before your mom kills us,” Connor says, giving me a quick smile.
I snort and follow him up the trail. We keep going for a few more minutes, breathing harder as the path climbs through the woods, the trees thinning until we reach the ridge. The sun isbright now, and from up here the lake and the cottages below us look like something out of a postcard. Light flashes so sharply off the water I have to shade my eyes.
“It’s beautiful,” I say, filling my lungs as a gust of wind cuts across the ridge.
“It is,” Connor says, stopping beside me. He pulls out his phone. “Come on. We should get proof we were actually up here.”
I take out mine too, and for the next fifteen minutes we wander around taking pictures of the hills, the lake, the valley behind us. A few of ourselves too—me with the water behind me, Connor with the ridge at his back.
“It’s going to look insane here in summer,” I say, slipping my phone back into my pocket. “When everything’s green.”
“Yeah.” Connor nods. Then he steps closer and says, “Let’s take one of us together. For your parents.”
I nod, even though the ache in my chest tells me this fake breakup is going to suck badly enough without photos to prove it happened. Still, I can’t bring myself to say no. Not if it means I get to keep this.
I pull out my phone again and move in beside him, my arm stretched out in front of us. Connor slides a hand around me and draws me against his side until my shoulder presses into his chest.
Jesus Christ.
He’s barely touching me, and my whole body lights up.
We both look at the screen while I take a few quick shots, trying not to focus on the fact that my hand is shaking a little, or that my face on the screen is bright red.
When I lower the phone, Connor turns to me and says, “Let’s do one with a kiss. For your mom.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my mouth suddenly dry.
Connor blinks at me, then tips his head a little as he leans in.
And instead of giving myself one second to think, I close the distance and kiss him.
He freezes for the briefest moment.
Then he kisses me back.
His lips are warm and ridiculously soft, and the second they move against mine, a rush of heat goes through me so fast it makes me dizzy. Blood rushes straight to my cock with humiliating speed, and when I feel myself hardening in my jeans, I remember with a jolt that I was supposed to be taking a picture.
I fumble with my phone, lifting it and blindly tapping the screen without even checking whether I actually got anything.
Connor’s tongue brushes my lower lip, then traces the seam of my mouth, and when I open for him, he slips inside.
