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“Even better.” He cups my face and kisses me.
His lips against mine.
Mine against his.
Rad is kissing me. His mouth is embracing mine, and I’m wasting time thinking about the fact that he’s doing it instead of participating. Just when I lean in for more pressure, he pulls away too soon. “Did I screw up by telling you?”
“You didn’t screw up.” I tug him inside the bedroom, and this time, I kiss him. I just do it, moving on instinct, following my heart . . . and my desire.
21
Rad
For everything I’ve done right in the world, kissing Tealey Bell tops the list.
Soft lips mold to mine.
A hand that rubs gently over the roughness of my cheek.
The way her body lifts on her toes, increasing the pressure and deepening the kiss, makes me think she was telling the truth when she said she’d had thoughts about me.
She drops back down, our lips parting, and we look at each other. Neither of us rushes to apologize or call those kisses an accident. No. We both plead guilty to the offense of wanting it with each other.
Her chest rises and falls as she looks at me to say something or make the next move. I tilt my head, resting my forehead against hers as our jagged breathing evens.
Closing her eyes, she whispers, “No take backs.”
I chuckle between us, angling back far enough to take her in. When her eyes open, I reply, “Never.”
Her gaze shifts away, and I hate that anything but a smile resides on her face.
Don’t read too much into it, Wellington. Keep perspective. It may not have been more than a kiss to her.
I cup her cheek and run my thumb over her soft skin. “What are you thinking?”
Her body language reveals her walls are down, a comfort even now that we’ve strayed outside the lines of our friendship. Taking my hand and holding it between hers, she keeps her eyes trained on the bond between us. “Have you thought about kissing me before, or is this the bourbon talking?” Glancing up briefly, she adds, “I’ve had a lot of wine, and I’m not sure how much you’ve drunk.”
I weigh my options, knowing so much depends on how I answer. I could hide behind the alcohol, but I don’t want to. Tilting her chin until I can see the blues of her pretty eyes again, I go with the truth. “I think about you all the time, Tealey.”
“Why haven’t you been on any dates lately?” she asks, gripping the front of my shirt.
“Lately?” I scratch the back of my neck. “Hm.” Why haven’t I? I could list so many things, like how she talks with her hands when she’s excited to how I work through lunch so I can rush home to be with her before the golden hour disappears. That she uses my lemon squeezer and then asks me to use my strength to get the last drop from the fruit squeezed into her water. How she touched me after the move, and I can still feel the ghost of her fingers grazing across my skin. But what made me forget about being with anyone else was when I realized that Mr. Meisler was right.
Sometimes, I catch Tealey looking at me like I’m that sugar cookie she stole earlier, and she just wants to take a bite. So fucking hot.
Not to mention when the light hits her eyes and—call me a narcissist, but I like to think they sparkle just for me. And those lips, fuck, I’ve dreamed about kissing those pink lips. As a matter of fact, I want to kiss them again.
I shift again, hoping she can’t see or feel what she does to me. Or maybe she needs to so she understands exactly why I’m not returning any of the texts or calls I’m receiving from other women.
Nothing like going with the truth . . . “You want to know why I haven’t been on any dates lately?” She nods, her body still as I rest my hand over her heart. It’s fast and steady, matching mine. “Because in so many ways, I’m already dating you. We’ve been pretending we’re not, but I think you feel this connection as much as I do.”
“Friends can spend time together and not be dating.”
“That’s not the case when it comes to you and me. Not anymore.” Fuck. What the hell am I doing? Running my hand through my hair, the thought of ruining everything we’ve become has me on edge. “I didn’t come to the Hamptons thinking this would happen or that I’d be telling you any of this.”
She says, “But we’re here and . . .” Reaching for my hand, she holds it between both of hers. “I’ve been happier spending time with you than I have been in years. I thought I was wrong for feeling this way, to think about kissing you and the possibility of what could happen after that, like I shouldn’t be enjoying our time together so much. I already told myself I can blame the wine tomorrow. Tonight, though, I’m glad I can finally tell you how I’m feeling inside.”
