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Swallowing a sigh, I reluctantly look up.
Luna scans me the same way she perused my artwork, smile as strained as the humor in her tone. “Mad looks good on you.”
“I’m not mad.”
“No?”
“No, Luna, I’m not.”
She doesn’t seem convinced. “Billy was just being a drunk dick.”
“I don’t care about Billy.”
“Looked a lot like you cared.”
“Not about him.”
Pink lips part on a sharp breath, nothing else escaping them. They roll together for a moment, thoughtful and oddly nervous, before she inhales again, slower this time, releasing it with a confession. “I panicked, okay? I saw you and I panicked.”
When I frown, Luna rolls her eyes. “Because,” she answers the question I only silently asked, “you make me kind of nervous, Jackson.”
“Imake younervous?” I gawk at her, mouth wide open, perfectly aware of how foolish I look and sound yet powerless to stop. “Why?”
Luna doesn’t answer. Instead, she cocks her head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Is that really so hard to believe?”
I decide against responding, and the smile that curves Luna’s lips in response to my silence?
Downright terrifying.
“It is very nerve-wracking, Jackson,” she all but purrs, “to not know when the hell a guy is gonna make a move on you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“I thought maybe you were gonna the other night, in your truck,” she continues, another purposeful step eliminating the distance between us. “The whole way home, I wondered if you’d thought about it.”
I did. There was a long moment where I considered it before common sense kicked in. “Did you want me to?”
I can’t tell what answer I’m hoping for. Half of me begs,please God, say yes. The other half prays she’ll laugh, say no, crush the little hope I have once and for all because Jesus Christ, this is painful.
It’s painful feeling so awkward and helpless around her constantly. It’s painful trying not to make a complete ass of myself. And, God, it’s painful wanting to kiss her.
And I really, really want to kiss her.
As slow as the smile that graces her lips, Luna’s hands dance up my chest, toying with the fabric of my t-shirt, until her hands are linked behind my head. “Yes.”
I can’t speak or move or breathe but it’s fine because she does it all for me. Luna leans forward, melding to me perfectly, breath brushing my lips. “I wanted you to, Jackson,” she says, and as though compelled by her words, my hands move, landing on the curve of her waist.
Another one of the few inches between us is decimated when her nose brushes mine. “Really, really badly.”
It’s not the feel of her breath on my lips that does it. Not the feel of her fingers tangling in my hair either. No, it’s those goddamn eyes, the soft genuinity in them that matches the upturn of her lips. They provide the encouragement I need.
They convince me to tug her forward, so gently, and press my lips to hers.
DURING
We were together.
