When we stopped in an alcove surrounded by colorful paintings behind glass partitions, it suddenly occurred to me that for once, I had Jake all to myself. If I squeezed just a little bit closer to him, we'd have a surprising amount of privacy.
To talk. That's all.
Still, as I gazed over at him, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to do more than talk. Last night, I'd heard the sounds from Maddie's room. Whatever he was doing in there, she'd obviously enjoyed it, and that was an understatement.
What would that be like? To be that close to him? For as long as I could remember, Jake had been my ultimate fantasy. In fact, he'd been myfirstfantasy, back when sex had seemed more of an abstract idea than a solid reality.
I moved my head close to his and said, "You never told me why we're here."
In a surprisingly intimate gesture, he leaned his forehead against mine. "Is that a complaint?" he asked.
Our lips were achingly close. If I tilted my head a little to the right, they'd be closer still. Kissing distance. My tongue darted between my teeth. It brushed the inside of my lips, and my eyelids threatened to drift shut.
With a mental slap to my forehead, I pulled away. "Heck yeah it's a complaint," I said. "If we're here because of me, I should probably know why."
"I'll tell you later," he said.
"Why not now?" I demanded.
"Because," he said, "in like thirty seconds, someone's gonna try to kick my ass."
I wanted to groan.
Again?