It’s been days since the movie night, and I’mstillthinking about it.
Cillian’sall I can think about.
And I’ve discovered two things since that night.
Number one, and probably most important, is that kissing Cillian made me realize that I’m not sure if I evenwantto… date anyone or even meet anyone anymore.
Second is that I am, without a doubt, into him, andnotjust as friends.
Tonight will be the first time we’ve really seen each other outside of the pitch since that kiss happened, and honestly, I’m nervous.
But mostly I’m thinking about how badly I want to do itagain.
And again.… And again.
My God, kissing Cillian was an out-of-body experience. The way he kissed, slow and explorative, is exactly the way I imagine he… fucks.
I know we probably shouldn’t do it again. Because of the team, and my dad, and that it will undoubtedly complicate things, but I also think I don’t really care.
Because I loved the way I felt when his hands glided down the curve of my waist and the sounds he made deep in the back of his throat when my teeth raked along his bottom lip.
I want more.
More than just the hottest kiss of my life.
I wanthim.
The familiar rumble of his bike as he pulls into my complex parking lot has me jumping up from the couch and sprinting to the entryway. I grab my jacket off the hook and slip my arms into it. It’s a soft black leather and makes me feel like a total bad bitch. I saw an ad for it online and thought it would be perfect the next time I rode on the back of Cillian’s bike.
When I swing my front door open, he’s standing on the doorstep, fist lifted mid-knock, and the sight of him makes me nearly breathless. He looks stupidly hot in a navy long-sleeved henley and dark-wash jeans, the fabric molded to all the sharp planes of his muscled thighs. The dark strands of his hair are still damp from a shower, the ends curling at his nape.
Jesus.
Is he always this attractive, or is it just because now I know how talented his mouth is?
“Hi,” I murmur, a shy smile flitting to my lips.
His dark hazel eyes drop to my outfit and his brow lifts as the corner of his lips tugs up in a slight smirk. “That new?”
“It is. What do you think?” I do a little spin, giving him a full view. I’m wearing a new pair of jeans that are so tight they’re practically a second skin, with a deep burgundy sweater and a pair of short combat boots.
Not at all something I’m used to wearing, but I’m pushing myself to step out of my comfort zone. Try new things and see what I like.
And this outfit makes me feelhot.
“You look good,” he says as I shut the front door and lock it before turning back to him. “Ready for your next lesson?”
Is he asking if I want to kiss him again, because the answer to that is yes.
“I thought since that dickhead that gave you his number the other day ghosted you, we’d go to the bar and keep practicing on putting yourself out there, even if it doesn’t work out,” he adds with a serious expression.
What?
So… he’s just going to not acknowledge that… we kissed?
Oh my God.
Have I really spent the last few days obsessing over this stupid kiss when he’s not even interested in it happening again?
