Page 123 of Falling Like Snow

“Then why are we stopping?” I ask, pretty sure I wasn’t the only one enjoying this best friend make-out sesh.

“Because we don’t want a teenage pregnancy. Our parents would kill us, and I’m not ready to have a kid.”

I kiss the corner of his lips. “You do know how babies are made, right?”

He laughs. “Yes, Sloane. But seeing as I ended up with semipermanent marks on my neck the last time we ‘just kissed,’ I’d say at least one of us needs to practice some self-control.”

I bury my red face in his shoulder. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Are you kidding?” he says. “That was literally the best thing to ever happen to me.”

I lift my head and cackle, and his sweet eyes crinkle in the corners as he laughs too.

Then he tucks my hair behind my ears. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Having self-control? Because you should be. That shit’s for the birds.”

“For making you push the cake off the water tower,” he says. “For making you think I was that upset about such a thoughtful present.”

“It was a terrible present. You were right, I should have considered how you’d feel.”

“No. I’m serious. I love that you baked me a cake. I love the reason you baked me a cake. I can’t say that I regret not trying the cake, because the ground is probably where it belongs”—he smiles, and I laugh—“but I do regret how I handled the whole situation. I should have said thank you, and I shouldn’t have made you feel bad about it. So I’m sorry.”

“Hmm. Well, I guess there’s one way you can make it up to me,” I tell him.

“Oh? How’s that?”

I lean in and whisper, “You can kiss me again.”

In less than a heartbeat, his lips are on mine and his hands are gripping my hips. A sound escapes me as he deepens the kiss.

Then, despite my protests, he slowly pulls away.

“You smell good,” he says, his hands caressing my thighs like he can’t stop touching me.

“It’s the same Winter Candy Apple lotion I’ve been wearing for weeks.”

“Oh, trust me, I know. It’s been torturing me.”

I chuckle. “Why’s that?”

“Because it makes me want to do this”—he takes my hand and slowly, softly kisses the inside of my wrist—“and this”—he presses his lips gently to my throat, making my insides buzz. “But I couldn’t,” he whispers against my skin as my eyes fall closed. “We should go back into the party.”

My eyes spring open to find him smiling at me. I glare at him. “Now you’re the one torturing me.”

“Consider it payback,” he says with the biggest smile. He glances around the car, and only then do I realize that we’ve fogged up all the windows.

Asher and I giggle, knowing what it probably looks like from outside. Then he lifts his hand and writes I, draws a heart, then writes U.

“I heart you, too,” I tell him, suddenly overwhelmed with worry again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“Sloane, I know you better than I know myself.” He presses on the space between my eyebrows, smoothing it out with his thumb. “What’s wrong?”

I climb off him and sit on the seat. “Is this a mistake?”