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“Why not?” I pick up the bag and throw it over my shoulder, walking in step with her. “Would you be jealous?”
We turn down a hall, passing volunteers, and my hand finds hers, weaving our fingers together.
Us doing this is more comfortable than I ever thought it’d be.
It might be only holding hands, something we’ve done countless times,butit’s more than platonic now.
She looks up at me with a radiant smile. “Absolutely, and you’d be the same if it were the other way around.”
“Nah, I’d cut in line and buy all your kisses.”
I grunt when I’m pulled down a vacant hallway and pushed into a dark room. While I wrap my head around what’s happening, the door slams shut behind us, and Carolina’s lips hit mine.
It’s a sweet kiss.
Minimal tongue.
Lasts only seconds.
Her eyes search mine as she pulls her mouth away, but she doesn’t move. “I’ve wanted to do that since you agreed to the dunk tank.”
I lick my lips to taste her. “It was my pleasure.”
She snorts. “It definitely wasn’t.”
“You’re right.” I kiss the tip of her nose and stare into her beautiful eyes. “You can make it up to me later.”
* * *
“Question.”
My eyes sweep over to Carolina at her … question. She’s sitting next to me in one of the two remaining chairs we left after cleanup. I’m in the other.
It’s dark, nearly ten o’clock, and the fundraiser has ended. A group of people stayed behind and helped clean up, but it’s only us now. Rick has dodged me since he dunked my ass, but I remind myself to reach out to him and figure out what’s on his mind. My guess is, he’s unhappy that Carolina and I are so serious yet not married. For as long as I’ve known Carolina, she’s expressed her parents stress marriage and abstinence.
I’m tired, every muscle in my body aches, and I can’t wait to go home and collapse onto the couch.
“Answer,” I reply, stretching my legs out in front of me.
“Can you clarify this?” She signals between us.
I raise a brow in confusion even though I’m not confused about shit. “Huh?”
“What’s going on with us?” She delivers the words slowly, as if it’ll take a moment for my brain to digest them.
This is what I’ve feared since day one.
The dreadedwhat are wetalk.
It’s not the first time I’ve been asked this question. Those discussions ended in awkwardness and me fleeing the scene.
I’m shit at expressing myself.
Shit atclarifyinglabels.
I clear my throat, scrubbing a hand over my now-sweaty forehead while gathering my thoughts before allowing them to fall from my mouth. Unlike with other women, there’s no walking away from this conversation with Carolina. No matter how weird it gets, I’ll have this talk with her. She deserves that.
“How about you clarify what you want us to be?” I finally say.
