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“Want to talk about what happened?”
Does he mean the kiss or the sushi incident?
Either way, I reply, “Sure. Let’s chat.”
He turns on the bedside lamp, and we turn toward each other.
Oh, my.
Only a measly foot separates us from kissing again.
“You were kind of harsh out there,” he says softly. “I was surprised.”
So this is about the sushi incident. “You’re taking my parents’ side?”
He scoots an inch toward me. “No sides. It’s just that they seem nice. Also, given your job, I find it odd how uncomfortable you are about their expression of sexuality.”
I gape at him. “You’re calling me judgy?”
“You said it, not me.”
I punch my pillow. “How would you feel if you saw your parents doing that?”
He flinches, and a sorrowful expression twists his face.
Oh, skunk. Now I feel like a heartless moron. I scoot until our noses almost touch and gently lay my hand on his cheek. “I’m so sorry. That was thoughtless of me.” I bite my lip. “Or maybe you just made me feel like a bad daughter, and I lashed out. It doesn’t help that we’ve been lying to them this whole time and—”
He covers my hand with his, his calluses pleasantly rough on the smooth back of my palm. “No, I’m sorry. You’re lying to them because of me, and—”
I kiss him. I can’t help it. I mean for it to be a soothing, I’m-sorry kiss, but I miscalculate.
He stiffens for a heartbeat, and then he kisses me back with such raw passion that if I were Sleeping Beauty, I’d wake up with a heart attack.
