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I stroked his cheek, where the bruise had been, and he let me.
God, I loved his face. He was so bloody handsome. And confused. I replayed what he’d said.
“Oh. No! I mean, that’s work. That’s acting. Nobody has actually kissed me before…without a script. Just like that, because they wanted to. Well, I assume you wanted to?”
“Of course I did, silly.” He was still flustered. “But I should have asked you. Consent is important.”
“Yeah.” I knew about consent. I’d had to sit through endless eLearning courses. Get signed off that I was aware of project policies. Every new production had its own way of ensuring we were up to date and compliant with every regulation and procedure before they made us sign NDAs and all the other legal stuff that came with the job. Inappropriate behaviour could end your career in an instant. Which made me snigger because last night?
“Matt.” I had no idea what was going on in my head. He’d just kissed me and here I was, deep in thought over NDAs?
“Matt, Matt…Matt.”
“I know. You don’t have to say it. You don’t feel like that about me. It’s fine. Honestly. It was just a stupid kiss. We’re still friends, right?”
“Friends who kiss?”
“Yeah.” He looked slightly horrified at that prospect. Weirdly, so was I.
“Matt, I like you, and I have no bloody clue what’s going on right now. I wake up every morning and all I think of is you. Then I go to bed in the evening, and I can’t sleep if I’m not in your bed with you snoring next to me.”
“I don’t snore.”
“You do snore. Trust me. I know. My hearing is very good.”
“Now I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You kissed me.”
“Without a script.”
“Listen.” He once again wasn’t hearing what I was trying to say. Not surprising. My communication skills were abysmal. But. Fuck, this was important. “I’ve—”
“I need to go, Conny. I want to stay here and figure all this out, and I want to know what happened last night and why you’re so upset, but I have four minutes until I need to be on the Tube.”
“Go then!” I said with a smile.
“You and me. We’re going to talk later.”
“OK.”
“Go back to bed.”
“I’m going to go to the gym. I might as well since I’m up.”
He laughed. “You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah.” I was, and so was he because I still had him penned in against the kitchen sink. “Can I kiss you back?”
God. Morning breath and stale beer repeated on me as I gulped down air. What the hell was I trying to achieve here?
Nothing, apparently, as I grabbed his tie and smashed my mouth on his.
It was a well-rehearsed move. Season two, episode eight. Detective Hamilton, played by some dude whose name eluded me. Grab tie and yank. Nose to nose. Stare at him. Smash mouth on his. Kiss.
Detective Hamilton had pushed Cass Powell away, and I was half expecting Matt to do the same, until he wrapped his arms around me and…fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Matthew Winston could kiss. And I was now…
