Page 41 of Don't Think

“I amsosorry about Nora,” I say quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear. “She had a few shots before you guys arrived, so she was already pretty tipsy beforehand.”

He gives me a small smile, but I can tell it’s only to be polite. When hetrulysmiles, it shows in his eyes, at least that’s what I’ve noticed the last few days. Right now they’re practically empty, hard to read, like he’s already halfway done building walls around himself.

“It’s okay,” he says, shrugging. “It just caught me off guard is all.”

I press my lips into a tight line while I scan over his face, trying to find any sign that he’s lying and that it’s reallynotokay. It might not have been me who said it, but I feel every bit of the mortification like it might as well have been.

I turn toward the fridge and pull out the pink Moscato, then grab the merlot from the counter that he swore by. I gently place them on the island and gesture toward them the same way I did when we met.

“Pick your poison.”

Although there’s really no reason to even say that since I can already guess which one he’s going for.

His lips pucker in thought before he grins, wider than before.

Now I just have to get his eyes to match.

He takes a step closer, eyeing each bottle carefully before lifting his finger and points to the pink Moscato. For some reason, that makes my stomach flip. Butterflies burst through my chest while I watch him eyeing over the wine, andfinally, that sparkle returns to his eyes.

I pour him a generous glass of Moscato, and reluctantly, myself merlot, handing him his carefully.

He extends the glass forward, meeting my eyes with a warm smile. And not justanysmile. It’s a real one this time. One where I can see his dimple cut into the corner of his lip.

I’m so busy staring at his mouth that when he clinks our glasses together, it makes my pulse jump. I blink quickly while heat spreads across my neck like a wildfire.

“Cheers,” he murmurs. And that heat that was on my neck? It’s already on its way through my entire body.

A low rumble of thunder hits, loud enough that I can feel it shaking through my bones as I jerk my arm, and wine splashes over the rim and onto the floor.

And then the lights go out.

Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

Everything is pitch black, and I’m suddenly hyperaware to the point that all I can think about is the feeling of his hot breath fanning across my cheek. It smells like a delicious mix of cinnamon whiskey, and spearmint.

“I’msosorry,” I blurt. “Did I spill any on you?” I place my glass on the counter and start fumbling around for anything I can use as a towel.

“It’s no worries,” he says with a light chuckle.

Fireball and spearmint.

I grab the closest thing I can find that feels like cloth and immediately start running it down his arms.

“It’s really okay,” he reassures calmly.

I stop wiping, physically feeling his eyes on me as I slowly drag mine to his. A bolt of lightning strikes, a beautiful blue hue illuminating across his handsome face.

His eyes shift to my lips, and my stomach tightens violently, but I welcome it.

“You, uh”—he lifts his hand slowly—“have some here.” He reaches for my jaw and gently runs the pad of his thumb across my chin.

And I swear I’m starting to see stars while my breath is caught in my throat.

He pauses, his hand still under my jaw as our eyes lock. My body freezes, but my mind is still running an entire marathon.

Is he going to kiss me? Do Iwanthim to kiss me?

He starts to lean in, but before he gets too close, something knocks over in the living room, making us both jump. He quickly retracts his hand and clears his throat before taking a full step back, and my stomach deflates. He’s still barely a few inches away, but somehow it feels like an entire mile is stretching between us now.