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“I’m safe,” she whispers. “You don’t need to worry.” Setting her teeth on my bottom lip, she gently bites. “I got hit by two biodegradable paintballs. That’s it.”
I swear against her mouth, lightheaded with need as I drag her closer, crushing my mouth to hers. “It’s still unacceptable.”
She laughs as we break our kiss. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You’re impossible,” I groan, cupping her neck, slipping my fingers into her sweat-soaked hair, tangling with those wild locks knotted high on her head. “God, I can’t stop. I can’t stop and—”
And I’ve tried, I almost tell her.I’ve tried for so long.
She searches my eyes, perplexed, serious. Her thumb sweeps along my temple to my cheekbone, gentle and reflective. “What is it?” Leaning close, lowering her mouth to a breath away from mine, she whispers, “Tell me.”
My hands travel gently up her back, tucking her closer. I draw in a breath, my heart pounding, searching for the bravery to unburden myself. “I—”
“We WON!” Bea’s voice pierces the air.
More voices whoop and yell. Feet pound toward us.
Kate searches my gaze, her eyes dancing between mine. Sticks break under feet. Voices grow closer.
“Hold that thought,” she whispers. Then she plants one last, long kiss to my lips and leaps like a cat from my arms, scoops up a paintball, and launches it toward her sister as Bea steps into view.
“Paintball fight!”
•TWENTY-FIVE•
Kate
It’s the longest train ride of my life.
Christopher sits beside me, staring straight ahead, his thigh pressing into mine, hard, insistent. Those kisses on the paintball field play on a loop in my brain, and a flush creeps up my throat, flooding my cheeks.
Our eyes meet in the reflection of the train’s glass across from us.
His eyes pin mine, sharp, hungry. My eyes say the same thing—
Want, want, want.
Peripherally I’m aware of the group’s conversation, Toni and Sula dramatically replaying the highlights, Bea cackling with joy about defeating the bros in black.
All I can focus on is the sound of my breath sawing from my lungs. The heat pouring off Christopher. Every point of contact between my body and his.
My thighs squeeze together.
Christopher’s reflection smirks knowingly.
Never one to turn down the chance to retaliate, I lift my arms over my head, acting like I’m stretching out my shoulder, putting on full display the diamond bits that are my nipples poking into my sweater.
His smirk dies away. I watch his grip curl around the edge ofhis seat, until his knuckles are white. There’s still a splatter of green paint on his hand, flecks of yellow and blue clinging to his wrists, his neck, his hair, that make me flash back to just an hour ago at Peace, Love, and Paintball.
I see him as he looked then, turning right as I crept up on him and splattered a yellow paintball over his head, the grin on his face as he crushed one in his hand, then wiped it down the side of my face, making me scream with delight.
The train slows to a stop and we all ease out of our seats gingerly, walking slowly, sore as shit. Everything hurts.
The group leads the way, while Christopher and I fall behind them. I feel his hand settle low on my back, warm, comforting, torturously good.
He slants a glance my way, his eyes meeting mine, before they dance down to my mouth. The pressure on my back increases.
He wants me. And I want him.
