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Everly had imagined kissing James more times than she could count.
In those daydreams, his arms were strong but gentle as they pressed her to his chest.
His broad frame would stoop to reach her face, so she didn’t have to strain.
She would mold herself against his firm body, every part of him built to cradle her. To fit her.
His large hands would drag up and down her back, strong fingers knotting in her waves, tugging at them tenderly.
He’d smell like smoke and fire and something clean, leaving her senses drowning in him.
And his mouth. His mouth would be heaven.
But dreams and reality were rarely the same.
Kissing James in reality was clumsier.
Messier.
More awkward.
He stood stone-still, and his arms were too tight, and it felt likeEverly’s organs were going to pop against her ribs as she shoved up on her toes to reach his mouth.
One of them stank like sweat, and some moist pieces of hair had fallen out of his bun and stuck to her cheeks.
His lips were scratchy but wet, and his tongue was too big for her mouth. Though she thought he was kissing her back, they were completely out of sync: her too forceful, him too soft.
A second later, they pulled apart, and Everly stumbled back, knocking into whoever was dancing behind her. The music crashed through her senses like cymbals slamming against her head, and whatever mellow high she’d been riding from the alcohol evened out, leaving the world too crisp and clear.
The surprise in James’s eyes was far too vivid.
He kept opening and shutting his mouth, like he wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure what.
She stared back at him, her head filled with screeching. Everything about that kiss was so, so wrong. Her skin itched with the discomfort of it. She’d never regretted something so deeply before.
She wanted to bolt from the dance floor, the bar, the whole town, except her feet wouldn’t budge. Her muscles had stiffened, as if they’d been dipped in bronze.
She was a statue, frozen forever in this horrible moment.
After another minute of stunned silence, James took her hand. They retraced their earlier path to the dance floor, only this time, their fingers were too stiff to slot together. They didn’t move in rhythm, parting the crowd. They were two entirely separate entities shoving their way through people who didn’t care they were in a hurry.
He pulled her to the other side of the bar, where two armchairs sat near the front window, miraculously empty. As if they knew James and Everly needed them.
Releasing her hand like it was a hot pan, James dropped into one chair and nodded for Everly to take the other. She wanted to stand, but she sank into the gray cushion anyway.
“V,” James said softly.
Thanks to the streetlight outside, she could see his expression. How his golden brows were pinned tautly together, the lines around his mouth. He was worried.
Everly felt sick to her stomach. Every one of those shots had been a worse idea than the one before.
“V,” he repeated.
His tone was gentle but tentative.
Everly slid her sweaty palms down the thighs of her jeans and attempted to look him in the face. She’d been bold enough to kiss him. She had to be bold enough to listen.
His hands drummed nervously against his knees, and then fell over Everly’s, only to immediately pull back. He dragged them through his hair, clawing most of it out of his bun.
