My fingers trail along his waist.
He pulls back. Panting, chest heaving, eyes still angled down towards my lips, lidding that intense green gaze so I can’t read it, can’t read anything about him. Neutral, all of him neutral, like he’s put up a careful mask for the sole purpose of keeping me back.
“Nat?” I murmur. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“No,” he says. “You’re the problem.”
“Why?”
One more kiss. Slow. Soft. Tender. No tongue, just a quiet press of lips to lips, and then he pulls back. “Because I can’t stop wanting to do that.”
And then he’s really pulling back, pulling away, his fingers sliding through my hair as he turns. Walks.
And I let him go. I let him walk away even though I still feel the warmth of his soft mouth, the demand of his tongue. Still taste mint in my mouth. I’m too shocked, too speechless, to protest or run after him.
I’m too awed to move.
Takes me a few minutes to gather my courage and follow him out to the parking lot. He leans against the side of a black Lexus, a lit cigarette in his fingers.
Should I say something? Be the bigger man? Tell him it’s okay, we can pretend nothing happened, or maybe if he wants to try again, I’m willing, or maybe that he needs to stop messing around with me because sooner or later it’s gonna start screwing with my head—
His head snaps towards me. “Olli.”
“Hey, Mouse.” I step out into the frigid night. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Dunno why I am.” Nat ruffles the curls poking from beneath his backwards cap. “I just . . . I should apologize. For um . . .”
“Kissing me?” I lean against the car beside him, tilt my gaze up so he can see that I’m kidding. “Again?”
He still winces, despite the lightness of my tone, my teasing half-smile. His gaze drops to the cigarette smoldering in his fingers. “Yeah. That. I know it’s . . . not nice. Or fair. Misleading? Or um—”
“I’ve kissed people before with no expectations,” I assure him. I cross my arms over my chest, half against the cold, half just to have something to do with them. “I’m not like a little innocent virgin or anything.”
He looks off into the night, his gaze unfocused. “Yeah, but still. I get the feeling you’re not really, um . . .”
“Into random hookups?” I ask, and the twisted dynamic here—him awkward, me actually not—has me fighting not to smile despite the seriousness. “No, actually, I’m not. Being demi, well. You know. I don’t have sex with people unless I like them.”
“Oh.” Uncertainty reduces the burning intensity of his green gaze to shrouded embers. “So that makes it even worse, that I’m . . . fucking around with you.”
Oh, he’s so awkward. Why do I find it . . . endearing? “Nah, it’s all good. Trust me, Mouse, you’re not the first confused guy who’s tried to kiss me.”
Those beautiful black brows shoot up into his mussed hairline. “Really?”
“Oh yeah,” I grin. “You’d be amazed how many boys who think they’re straight get a look at me and change their mind.”
“You’re fucking with me now,” he groans, but some of the tension unweaves from his taut shoulders, allowing him to sink back against the car.
“Maybe a little,” I admit, studying the broad lines of his body, those big shoulders beneath the leather jacket, those square hands limp against his thighs. “But okay, here’s the thing. I . . .”
Shoot, am I about to tell him things I shouldn’t? Like, I should not tell him I have a crush on him, right? That would be bad news bears. Walk it back, Ol. Walk. It. Back.
I start again. “You’re a cool guy. We got this kinda fun back and forth, right? Like we get along, flirt, got this repartee thing going. So . . . I get it.”
He stares at me, his brows still arched, but doesn’t interrupt. Lets me say the things I need to say.
“So I guess, um.” My fingers fidget against my thighs, and my tongue and brain fight for control of my words. “If you need help figuring things out . . . I’m down to experiment. And if not, totally cool too. But I’d also like to throw into the mix . . .”
I sigh. I don’t want to say this next bit, but I’m a big mature adult, so I do it anyway. “Both times you’ve been drinking, so maybe it’s just—”
