Is this happening? Is this really happening? I thought it might have been about to happen in the kitchen the other night—and then it didn’t after all. Maybe I’m crazy, maybe this is—
My train of thought malfunctions, as he leans across the center console, his hand coming up to cup my jaw, his thumb stroking the line of my cheekbone. His movements are feather-light and hesitant, like he’s checking if I’m going to pull away.
I don’t. I lean into him, my eyes fluttering shut.
On first contact, it’s nothing but a simple peck. A soft, (as I’d suspected they would be, and I love being right) fleeting brush of his lips against mine. It’s sweet and has almost a timid feeling to it, a picture perfect, story-book first kiss.
He pulls away first, taking all my oxygen with him. At least that’s what it feels like, when I’m suddenly robbed of the ability to use my lungs. I open my eyes, finding him still only an inch away. He looks terrified and exhilarated all at once, his emotions written in the depth of his blue eyes.
“Was that okay?” he whispers.
I decide words won’t suffice as an answer, even if I could form them. Instead I decide to reach out, my fingers finding purchase in the soft hair at the nape of his neck and pull him back to me.
It feels like a dam breaking, weeks of suppressed feelings and unspoken words finally finding an outlet in this one kiss. Niall’s hand is cupping my face still, the other finding the small of my back, pulling me as close as the car’s interior would allow.
I would like to have a very stern word with the man who invented the center console.
It’s a real, heated, steamy, romantic kiss that’s made the world outside the car disappear. All I know is the taste of him, the heat of his skin, and the way his heart is thumping just as fast as mine. It’s like an out of body experience, only instead of feeling numb I feel twice as alive. Like I very well might explode; every nerve ending I have is on fire, sparking and popping with this beautiful energy. I’ve never felt anything like this—this pull, this gravity defying ache. It seems almost impossible. Should anyone be allowed to feel this good?
When I part my lips, Niall’s tongue brushes against mine. The contact causes a soft, needy sound to escape from the back of my throat. I can’t even be embarrassed. He responds by deepening the kiss, his hand sliding from my jaw into my hair.
It felt like we both knew some unspoken truth. Like if we let go, we’d drift too far away to ever come together again.
For now, we were in our own little world, a bubble of heat and friction on a cold October evening.
And like he knew this was a means to an end, Niall pulls away first.
Actually, scratch that. I wouldn’t call it pulling away. No, pulling away would have been preferable. Niall scrambles back into his seat, his chest heaving and his hands going to grip the steering wheel, white-knuckled, as if they hadn’t just been tangled in my hair. As if they hadn’t lightly caressed my jaw. As if he hadn’t felt that very same electric, exploding, emotion driven feeling during that kiss as I had.
What if the best thing I’ve ever felt was just another feeling to him?
I stay frozen, wondering if I had just hallucinated the whole thing. But no. His hair is messy, and he looks like he’s just been hit by a truck.
My lips are still tingling. “Niall?”
He won’t look at me. Instead he’s staring out the windshield, looking like he’s trying to regain control of his breathing.
“You should go in now,” he says finally.
Rejection washes over me like a bucket of ice water, numbing all the heat that had just been radiating through my body.
“What?” I stammer. “Niall, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “It’s late. Your mom is gonna be waiting inside. Just... go in, Molly.”
“Did I do something wrong?”
He shakes his head quickly. “No. It’s not you.” His eyes are shadowed with something unreadable. Is it guilt? Fear? Regret? “I just... I can’t do this right now. Please. Just go.”
He looks wrong. Different. Like in a split second something had snapped inside of him. It almost hurt to look at him, to seethe wall he’d just slammed up between us, higher and thicker than ever before.
“Okay,” I whisper, forcing the words out. Because I knew about walls. All too well.
So I carefully put my own back up and get out of his car.
25
He’s a Fighter
