Page 119 of Downforce

“Are you enjoying the show?” he asks, as if to prove my previous thought.

I look around at the splendor, the other guests and audience members dancing and laughing and having a good time, and my heart swells even more.

“I don’t know if my heart could sustain much more enjoyment,” I answer honestly.

He leans in and brushes his lips against mine. The kiss is too light, too fleeting, but perfect at the same time.

“Please don’t get too full on me, princess. We haven’t even reached act five yet.”

I grin, and he holds me tighter, closer. A sigh releases from my lips.

While I lay my head against his shoulder, I’m reminded of the first time Max and I danced together. That was only about six months ago but so much has changed since then. I thought I knew who Max Ferreira was back then, but he’s so much more, deeper than I ever suspected. Maybe I suspected it all along, which is why I chose to let myself hate him for so long.

“What are you thinking about?” His question interrupts my thoughts.

Our eyes catch. “How do you know I’m thinking about anything?”

His eyebrows dip inward, the corners of his mouth pulling slightly as if he’s saying ‘don’t you know by now?’

“You tug at the inside of your bottom lip when you’re thinking too heavily about something like when you’re trying to figure out a puzzle.”

Now it’s my eyebrow that wrinkles.

He leans lower, placing his mouth right next to my ear. “When you’re confused about something your left eyebrow raises slightly higher than the right, making the left side of your forehead scrunch up. When you’re solving a problem, you bite the right corner of your lip, literally chewing on the problem until you’ve figured it out. When you’re concentrating on a race, your mouth transforms into a straight line, your eyes narrow, and your entire body sways from side to side.

“But my favorite of all of your expressions is when you’re completely in awe or taken by a story. Your eyes sparkle as if there are tiny fairies dancing behind your pupils, your mouth relaxes, opening slightly, and your cheeks turn my favorite shade of red. Oh, I can’t forget what you look like when you’re fighting for someone you care about, then you⁠—”

I fuse my mouth to his, cutting him off.

Max takes over the kiss, teasing and flaming my already heightened emotions so much that my skin burns. The friction of my clothes against my body is almost too much to bear.

I pull back, panting. “How many acts does this play have?”

Max chuckles, his forehead resting against mine. “It’s almost over, I believe.”

He’s lying. I know he’s lying because this is my favorite play and there are five acts. We’re not even halfway through just yet. But I don’t know if I can wait until it’s over to leave.

“Patience, princess,” he whispers in my ear.

I shiver and do my best to pull myself together. I can’t believe how close I came to tearing this man’s clothes off right here in the middle of Shakespeare’s mystical forest.

The next act begins, and it’s as enchanting as the first two acts were with an enthralling cast of characters played by some of London’s most talented actors, no doubt. But all I can think of is the man who’s running the tips of his fingers up and down the column of my spine. Even with my clothing separating our actual skin from touching, the heat from his touch sends me right to the edge of a cliff, teetering like a boulder, unable to decide if it’s ready to take the plunge or if it’s come to a stop.

Sometime later, once Lysander and Hermia, and Demetrius and Helena are allowed to wed and live in eternal bliss, Max and I emerge from the castle-like theater, hand-in-hand.

As soon as we step onto the street, a clap of lightning startles me into Max’s arms. He catches me easily even as his worried gaze is turned up toward the dark, cloud-filled sky. The moment I look up at the sky, the heavens open up and a sheet of water blankets us.

Moving swiftly, Max pulls me across the street, underneath some tree coverage while he digs into his pocket with his free hand.

“The car was supposed to be waiting for us,” he gripes, angrily.

Laughter sounds around us, and it takes me almost as long as it takes Max to recognize that it’s coming from me.

He looks at me with confusion but I’m too busy laughing and lifting onto my tiptoes to answer. My clothes soak through, my hair that I’ve worn loose is getting drenched, and puddles form around my high heels, but I cup Max’s face and steal another kiss.

“Our driver⁠—”

“Can take his time,” I say against his lips, kissing him again. More than warmth and protection from the storm, I want his mouth on mine.