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But he’s kissing me, and my brain short-circuits. His tongue runs along the seam of my lips, begging for entrance as his hand curls around jaw, tipping my head farther back until a sting of pain comes when it bounces off the brick, but I don’t care. The pain is welcome. It’s a reminder that this is real.
My mouth opens on a gasp, and he takes this opportunity, sliding his tongue inside, wrestling with mine for dominance. A hum of approval passes his lips as they continue to devour mine, and I’m too lost in him and this moment, to do anything but accept what he offers me.
When the hand at my hip slips lower, pushing inside the waistband of my leggings, I shudder beneath him, forgetting we’re out in the open where anyone could walk by and see us. Maverick freezes, coming to his senses when I moan. His mouth leaves mine, his weight peeling away from my body, and where there was heat and him, now there’s cold and nothingness.
He stares at me, his eyes heavy on my face as he steps backward. I don’t say anything, offering him no words of appeasement that him walking away is okay.
It’s not.
If I thought Maverick had stolen pieces of me before, it’s nothing compared to the feeling washing over me now at the look on his face as he stares at me awestruck, his mouth gaping.
He asked me Friday if I’d loved him back then, and I couldn’t answer. I still can’t now. But when he spins away without a word, my heart cracks, and I know that while I may not know what love is, whatever hold Maverick has on me, it’ll never relinquish. It didn’t when we were kids playing make-believe. Not even when we were teens who couldn’t communicate. And especially not now that I know what he tastes like and how he kisses.
He gave me his first kiss.
Hisonlykiss.
And knowing that, knowing he’ll take pieces of me with him, long after he leaves me standing here, shatters something inside me I long thought to be dead.
Maverick
I’m certifiably insane, I think. When I should be taking in the speech Coach spits out at us—putting all my focus on tonight’s game—all I can think about is how soft Beatrice’s lips felt.
Almost twenty-one years I’ve gone without ever kissing a girl, and in a split second, I fucked all that up. But it was always meant to be hers. I knew, even when we were just kids, that giving into the urge with Beatrice would change everything between us, so I kept my lips to myself, refusing to give them to her, but unable to give them to anyone else either.
But I could never have imagined just how muchmorea simple kiss could be. I mean, shit, I told the girl I loved her once upon a time, but that wasn’t nearly as terrifying as pressing my lips to hers.
And that kiss?
Fucking hell. Never did I think it would feel like that. There weren’t butterflies taking flight or tremors racking my body. Instead, it was like a rocket went off, scorching me from the inside and burning away whoever I was before that moment.
Nash whacks me upside the head, glaring at me as he gestures to Coach, who also has his attention drawn our way, a frown on his lips.
“Dude,” Nash whispers. “Get your head in the fucking game or watch him bench you. Have you listened to a word he’s said?”
I bristle at his annoyance, though I have no right to. “Alright, Troy Bolton,” I hiss back, and his lips twitch at the reference. Beatrice and Willow once made us binge those films in a single day, and I swear Nash decided there and then Troy Bolton was the coolest dude in the world—not that he’ll ever admit it. “I’m listening.”
Coach finishes with a rundown of what he expects from tonight’s game before demanding we get ready and out onto the field in the next fifteen minutes. With a final salute, he’s gone, leaving us to our devices before the game.
We’re dressed and ready to go within ten minutes, and Nash wastes no time ushering me outside.
“Come on, then, get it out.” I turn to him, an unamused scowl on my face. He beams, tossing his arm over my shoulder. “Now, tell Doctor Nash what’s on your mind.”
“Doctor Nash?” I deadpan.
“Didn’t I tell you? I’m thinking of changing careers,” he says, laughing to himself at whatever joke he’s about to tell me. “Since I’m basically your therapist these days, I might as well get paid for that shit.”
Socking him in the arm, I pull out of his hold and shove him away. “You’re such a dick.”
“But you love me anyway.” He chortles. “Now, come on, seriously, what’s going on?”
“I kissed Bea,” I mumble, dragging a hand through my hair.
Nash stops in his tracks, his eyes widening. It would be comical if it weren’t for the fact that the one time I probably need my friend and his endless—usually unwanted—words of wisdom, he’s fucking speechless.
“Seriously, bro? It’s not that big of a deal.” Blowing out a breath, I drop down onto the bench. Time moves so fucking slowly as I wait for him to catch up and say something.
When he finally does, the laughter that bursts from him is unexpected and only makes me more frustrated. “Holy. Fucking. Shit. You are completely and utterly in love with that girl, aren’t you?”
