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Translation: he didn’t bother to kiss the women he fucked. “Alright then, show me.” It was too easy not to mess with him.
His panicked face was priceless. “I didn’t mean that we should. I—Shit. You’re screwing with me, aren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Look, I’m only saying kissing is overrated.”
“Says the guy who sucks at it.”
His jaw ticked in response to my flippant answer.
“I happen to think the kiss sets the tone and should hold a promise of what’s to come.”
He shook his head. “I would argue it’s more like an appetizer. If you know the main course and dessert will be amazing, why bother with the soup?” He looked way too pleased with his metaphors.
“Clearly, we have a difference of opinion, then. Soup is much more than an appetizer; it’s a representation of the type of food that’s coming out of the kitchen. And frankly, if it sucks, why would I want the next course or believe you when you say it’s amazing?”
He grinned. “I can think of a lot of dirty metaphors in response. How do you know it’s not you who’s the bad kisser?”
My face flushed. “You’re the one with all of the experience.”
“Maybe it’s because kissing someone like my little sister didn’t do it for me.”
I inhaled sharply, trying unsuccessfully to hide the hurt. “Point taken for the zillionth time. Look, I’m tired...”
“I’m sorry. That was a crappy thing to say.” He paused, searching my face. “Are we okay? Nothing’s changed?”
He seemed so sincere, it was impossible to stay mad at him. Plus, other than bursting my crush bubble with a Mack Truck, what damage had really occurred? It had only been a kiss. “We’re definitely fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He hesitated before leaning in for a hug. “Okay. ‘Night, Kenz.”
Giving him a small smile, I watched him walk out the bedroom door.
All that buildup, years of fantasies, and now…huh. Well, now it turned out he wasn’t as perfect as I’d made him out to be. I grinned at the irony. In taking him down off the pedestal I’d put him on many years ago, I oddly felt relieved.
