“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” I say.
She squeezes my hand. “The bar was pretty low.”
“Still counts.”
“Yeah.” She smiles. “Still counts.”
The drive back to her place is quiet, but it’s a good quiet. Almost like everything important has already been said.
I pull up outside her building and park by the curb.
“Thanks for taking me to eat,” I say.
“Thanks for letting me crash your birthday.”
“You didn’t crash it. You made it.”
She turns to look at me, and the streetlight catches her face, turning her eyes to silver. She’s so beautiful it hurts.
“Banks…”
“Yeah?”
She doesn’t respond with words. Instead, she leans across the center console and kisses me.
It starts soft—tentative, questioning. A goodnight kiss. A thank-you kiss.
But it doesn’t stay soft.
Her hand finds the back of my neck, pulling me closer. I angle my head, deepening the kiss, and she makes that breathy little gasp that drives me insane. My hand slides into her hair, cradling her head, and suddenly soft isn’t enough.
“Come here,” I mutter against her mouth.
She doesn’t hesitate. She climbs across the console and into my lap—awkward in the confined space, but neither of us cares. Her knees bracket my hips, her chest presses against mine, and when she settles against me, we both groan.
“We should—” she starts.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us stops.
I kiss down her neck, tasting salt and sweetness, and she arches into me with a moan. Her hips roll—instinctive, searching—and the friction makes me see stars. I’m hard in seconds, straining against my jeans, and from the way she’s grinding against me, she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“Win.” Her name is a warning.
“I know.” She doesn’t stop moving. “I know, I know, but—”
She kisses me again, and I lose track of the warning I was trying to give. My hands slide under her sweater, finding warm skin, and she shivers at the contact. I trace up her spine, feeling the notches of her vertebrae, the clasp of her bra—
A car horn blares somewhere down the street.
We freeze.
Reality crashes back in. We’re in my truck, parked on a public street, fogging up the windows like teenagers.
“Shit.” Winnie pulls back, breathing hard. Her lips are swollen, her hair a mess from my hands. “We should—I should—”
“Yeah.” I’m trying to get my brain back online. It’s not cooperating. “I should get you inside.”
