Page 73 of Finding Noah

This feels like a dream, I thought as her eyes stared into mine and we whispered in smiles and laughs, dangling in the moments where we both knew—we just knew—this was it.

I was going to kiss her. I was going to know what it was like to press my lips against Meghan Kinney's, and there would be no going back. No turning around. And maybe that should scare me more than it did. God, it could destroy me if things went wrong, but I wasn't scared of that. I was terrified, yes, but what terrified me more than losing my job or giving her dad a reason to make my life a living hell was knowing that making her mine also meant having her to lose.

But there'd be nothing to fear if I held on to her with an iron fist. Now until …

Forever.

This could be forever.

“Come on, Mason,” Meg whispered, her fingertips massaging the insides of my wrists. “Kiss the girl. Do it. I dare you.”

“I've never been known to turn down a dare,” I muttered.

She grinned, mischief twinkling in her eyes. “I know.”

Not another moment was wasted after that.

No more thinking.

No more silent conversation.

I pushed my lips to hers in a moment that was at once forceful and gentle, and I reveled in the ability to take her breath away as she gasped—a sharp inhale through her nose—as I held her to me, my fingers wrapping and winding within the chaotic web of her hair in just the way I’d always imagined. And the world continued to spin around us—from the streets and the sidewalks and neighboring lots—but in our little bubble, time stood still as my heart settled and rested in the assurance that I'd finally been let in and I wasn't dreaming.

I kissed her again and again, smiling between each one like an idiot.

But if I was an idiot, then so was she.

“Where are you going tonight?” she asked, her breath feathering against my lips.

“I …” I kissed her again, not wanting to let another second in my life pass without touching her, tasting her. “I still live at home.”

Her giggles burst into the night like fireworks and champagne bubbles, and I pulled back, only an inch or two, to watch her laugh. At my expense maybe, but, God, she was beautiful, my angel on the phone line.

Mine.

She was mine.

“What?” I asked, unable to stop myself from laughing with her.

“I know you live with your parents,” she said, her laughter softly fading as she easily wrapped her arms around my neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Right. It was right. All of this.

“I was asking, what are you doing?”

“Well, Dad makes dinner every night, so …” I shrugged, wrapping my arms around her mid-back, our bodies now gently swaying in the lamppost light. Like we were dancing to music unheard. “So, after work, I usually go home, eat dinner with my parents and Miles, and then, I …” I shrugged, suddenly feeling like the little kid she always accused me of being. Afraid of continuing and admitting the boyish hobbies I still held on to.

Video games. Movies with my parents and little brother.

I mean, fuck, she was twenty-six. She probably went home to her apartment and had a glass of wine, did something fancy like mature women did in movies …

“Yeah?” she encouraged.

I knew I was blushing as I admitted, “Then I usually go to my room and play video games until I have to shower and go to bed. Sometimes, I play with Dad. Sometimes, we watch movies, if Mom and Miles are up to it.”

Her smile grew even wider. “That sounds fun.”

“Yeah? You don't think I'm a lame little kid?”