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My stomach dropped to my feet as I jerked my head toward him. “You think we’ll be together that long?”
He reached out and laced his fingers in mine. “I didn’t wait this long to win you over only to lose you again.”
I bit my lip in an effort to hide my grin but failed, and I was two seconds away from pouncing on him when he asked, “Are you excited for her to come home tomorrow?”
I nodded. “You have no idea. I missed her even more than I thought I would. We have a lot of catching up to do.”
“Like telling her all about your hot date to the dance?” He winked and my stomach somersaulted. “Tell me all the amazing things you’ll say about me.”
“Hmm . . .” I tapped my lower lip with a finger. “You mean like what an awful kisser you are?” I goaded.
“Liar,” he growled.
“I don’t know. You might have to refresh my memory.”
Who was I, and what did I do with Mia Randalls?
“Done.” He leaned forward, setting his drink down in one swift movement as he cupped the back of my head and pulled me in, crushing his mouth over mine.
Energy zipped between us. Adrenaline pumped through my veins as he parted my lips with his own. Angling his head, he hummed in the back of his throat and deepened the kiss as his tongue tangled with mine. The temperature in the Jeep increased to stifling. My limbs quaked, ears buzzed. Everything outside his car fell away as he seamlessly drifted to my jaw where he tasted his way down my neck and back again.
By the time he pulled away, my insides had liquified, and I shuddered at the loss of his mouth. “Does that clear it up for you?”
Eyes still closed, I nodded, needing a moment to catch my breath and return to Earth before I opened my eyes to the sight of Carson’s self-satisfied smirk. A month ago, I would’ve had to fight the urge to punch him. Today, I had to fight the urge to restrain myself from jumping him.
Clearing my throat, I tried to steady my voice as I returned to normal conversation. “Your turn. What’s your favorite holiday memory?”
His cheeks pinkened, but he only hesitated a moment before saying, “Easy. New Years when we were twelve.”
“Wasn’t that the year Ethan had a broken foot and couldn’t go ice skating?”
When Carson nodded, I couldn’t help but smile at the memory. Mrs. Brooks had been a competitive skater in her youth and loved ice skating. So every year on New Years, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks took us to the skating rink. That year, Ethan had done nothing but complain because he couldn’t skate yet she still insisted we go. I remember everyone waiting on him hand and foot like his arms were broken, too. For the life of me though, I couldn’t imagine why that was Carson’s favorite.
“But . . . why?” I asked, flabbergasted.
Carson smiled and stared down at his drink. “You were never very good at the ice.” But Carson was amazing. I used to get so mad at the way he’d skate circles around me and Ethan. “Mom and Dad were at the snack bar buying food and probably spoon-feeding it to Ethan, who knows. Anyway, at one point you fell and biffed it really hard. All I remember is you laying there like a starfish, arms and legs sprawled, so you had no choice but to let me help you up. And when you did—”
“We skated together, at least for a little while,” I said. Even at twelve, I remembered the way his touch gave me goosebumps and made my heart pound. My younger self blamed it on adrenaline from skating, but I knew better.
“I remember tucking your arm inside of mine and pulling you around the rink,” he said, his voice soft. “You’d refused at first, but once you saw how effortless it was with me, you’d forgotten to protest and let go. It was just you and me. No Ethan. Just us. And we skated that way for more than thirty minutes before my parents came back and it was time to eat and leave, before you remembered you were supposed to hate me.”
I swallowed. “Does it bother you?” I asked and glanced down to my paper cup, staring at sprinkles melting in the whipped cream.
“What?”
“That so many of my memories are with Ethan?”
“How can I be mad when so many in your future will be mine?” A lump formed in the back of my throat, and when he reached a hand out to my face, I leaned into, heat fisting in my chest. “Besides, we have plenty of time to make memories of our own,” he said. “Speaking of . . .” He ran a hand through the length of my hair and twirled a lock of it around his finger. “Are you coming over for a bit on Christmas like you always do?”
I nodded. “Ella’s going to sneak away to Barry’s house for a bit, too, so I won’t even miss any time with her. But I have one demand.”
“Demands? Already?” His eyes sparkled with laughter as he dropped my hair, only to clasp my hand in his.
I nodded, loving how he couldn’t seem to stop touching me. Fighting back my smile, I said, “You have to be my partner for Pictionary.”
“Done.” He grinned. “And you might as well prepare yourself because my parents are going to be all over this,” he said, motioning between us.”
“I kind of got that impression when your mom saw me at your meet.”
