He tastes hoppy and sweet, bitterness from the beer largely gone. He’s a brand-new flavor, one I’ve never experienced but instantly like. It’s only our second kiss, but it is very much a first kiss.
Damon pulls back first. The look on his face is a little shocked.I agree,I want to say.I am also shocked.The realization hits me then. Who knows how much longer we will be stuck together, sitting for eight hours a day in court, side by side in the jury box, and at this shitty hotel, and I have just kissed him unexpectedly, giving it all a weird complication.
He is still gripping my arms firmly as we are positioned just inches apart.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know why I—” Before I can finish what would have been a truly awkward apology, he leans in and kisses me.
Hekissesme.
15.
No-Fraternization Rule
a prohibition against jurors socializing or forming personal relationships with each other outside of the official jury deliberation process
Judge Gillespy mentioned possible jail time
This time, the shock burns away quickly.
Damon kisses with intention—long, weighty stretches of deliberate movement against my mouth. His right hand cups my jaw, his thumb rubbing unconscious strokes against my earlobe. He speaks so little with his voice, as if he has a daily word count he must stay under. But with his mouth, he says so much. He says he knows what he’s doing. He says command. He says pleasure. Kissing him is what kissing a man should feel like, I think as his tongue laps against mine. The bristle of his stubble, shaved though constant. The rough but gentle skin of his hands. Even the girth of his thumb against my face. That polished saddle smell. They all combine into one utterly masculine encounter. And it instantly makes me want to succumb.
His body sways into mine, and we touch from our lips down to our thighs. He tilts his head, and I instinctively do the same, our mouths fitting more deeply together. His tongue brushes mine in a sturdy wave, and the flutter in my stomach quickly evolves into an aching pulse that spreads down my body.
Mustering every bit of strength I have, I pull away again.
I expect him to look a little dazed after that kiss, but he’s as fierceas when I first leaned in. And, yet again, he is a man of no words. He just stares at me, and the vulnerability I feel as a result pinches my gut.
I stumble backward, lightheaded. I can’t read him. Not one bit. He just stands there without words, without movement, looking at me as if... as if I have no idea because he is giving me nothing.
Staring back at him, I know—
That was a mistake.
“That was a mistake,” I say, aloud this time. There are many things that drove me to kiss him, the rational side of my brain says. The need to uncap and release the emotion biting inside me about Kara. The overwhelming emotion I have toward him generally. It’s as though kissing him was an exploration of the meaning of all those feelings. It’s nostalgia, I tell myself.
I can’t think of all the things that connect us or I’ll lean back in. So instead, I think of all the hurt of losing him once, how I can’t go through it again.
He flinches slightly, and I almost believe my words have stung him, though it’s hard to tell because he’s so damn silent. I can’t imagine what is happening in his head, despite my attempts to figure it out. To figure him out.
He steps around me and grabs his beer to take a long swig, and it feels like he’s washing away the remnants of our kiss. Of me. I can’t believe this happened. What did I expect when I followed him on a mystery escapade as sequestered jury members under strict rules.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but if I’m listening to myself, my body specifically, it’s less of an actual apology and more of a formality.
“Don’t be,” he says, so immediately I’m unsure if it’s genuine or perhaps meant to placate me. Desperate to dissipate the ick inside me, I’ll accept either. We stare at each other again, his face—eyes specifically—looking conflicted as they narrow in an intense glower.
“And thank you,” I say.
His eyebrows pinch. “For what?”
“For apologizing.”
He huffs out a breath, which I interpret as some kind of unspoken understanding.
One quick apology doesn’t solve all that exists between us, of course, but it does do some good. I recognize that something significant has changed in this suite. If I had to pin my feelings now, I’d say it’s mostly just sadness. In one fell swoop, my empathy for Kara, for him, has replaced the anger. Empathy and anger can’t seem to successfully coexist in me. For the moment, I am grateful for that.
Part of me—a part closely aligned with my center point—wants to pull him back into the closet. Because I know once we leave this room, this whole thing between us has to stay here—one small moment replaced by professionalism and jury member decorum.
He looks at me, conflicted, as if debating if my acknowledgement of his apology is an opening for more.
