“I’m pretending you didn’t say that, since that conversation never happened.”
I hold up a second finger. “And,” I say, continuing before I can lose my nerve, “I still want to kiss you. I think the solution is obvious.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” She shakes her head, but her wide eyes give her away. She knows exactly what I’m suggesting. I know she’s thought about it too. There’s been a spark between us since she came home from college. She thinks I don’t notice the way she looks at me sometimes, but I do. Physical attraction has never been to blame for keeping us apart.
I slide out of the booth then scoot into her side until we’re thigh to thigh. When I lean down, I let my lips brush the shell of her ear as I whisper, “I think we should both get what we need. I need to kiss you. You need to learn that all it takes to be good in bed is chemistry.”
Chapter Six
Abbi
My blood is on fire. His breath feels good against my ear—too good—and I need to remind myself who we are. I scoot toward the wall, putting space between us. My skin feels so hot that I might spontaneously combust.
I swallow hard. We have never talked about last Halloween. It happened and was promptly placed in the vault of Things Friends Don’t Discuss, where it belonged. Dean was drunk and kept looking at me and I didn’t know why, and then at some point we found ourselves alone in this very booth. Side by side, just like we are now.
He was laughing at my costume, a red Crayola crayon. He said most girls use Halloween as an excuse to show off their bodies, and that if any other woman showed up at Smithy’s with the same costume idea, she’d wear a red miniskirt and matching tube top and written RED CRAYON on her bare midriff with Magic Marker. Whereas I had dressed in long sleeves and long pants (both red, obviously), wearing an extra-large red pillowcase as a dress and a red poster board dunce cap on my head.
I told him I was sorry to disappoint and I was sure he’d have plenty of other opportunities to see sexy red crayon, but my costume was respectable red crayon. Then he asked me why I didn’t think respectable red crayon was sexy, his lips brushing my ear like they did just now, my heart pounding madly like it is right now. Then his lips were so close to mine that I held my breath for several long beats before I remembered who I was and where we were. Girls like me don’t get kissed by guys like Dean.
That voice saved me that night. Without it, I might’ve thought he was interested in me and not just drunk, horny, and alone. So I laughed in his face, shoved him away, and told him I needed another drink. And then we carried on as if it never really happened.
Whyyyy did he have to crack open the vault? Nothing good ever comes of that.
But the bigger question I can’t get out of my head is: he’s thought about that night? More than, like, in-that-moment, horny-and-lonely thought about it? I have. A little. Until I made myself stop.
I don’t feel these things for Dean. I don’t want these things from Dean. I don’t let myself. I have a lot of wonderful things in my life. Hot guys with ooey-gooey hearts might not be on the list, but that’s fine. Honestly, I just want a good guy—someone who makes me smile, who shares my interests, whose personality is enough of a turn-on that the superficial stuff doesn’t matter.
Dean’s gaze flicks down to the space I’ve put between us then back up to meet mine. “You afraid, Abigail?”
“No.” I laugh and sound like a liar.
“I think you are.” He shakes his head. “I don’t get the feeling that this is a ‘Hey, I don’t want you, creep, so back off’ kind of rejection. I think you’re afraid of what might happen if I kiss you.” Under the table, he finds my hand with his and strokes my knuckles with his thumb so gently that I practically jump out of my seat. “I think you’re afraid to let me prove you’re not bad in bed.”
I close my eyes. I can hardly keep them open, because I want every bit of my awareness centered on his thumb. Stroking. Making me . . . want.
“It’s your ball,” he says. Then he climbs out of the booth, leaving me breathless with flushed skin and a racing heart. He leans over one last time to whisper in my ear, and the brush of his breath is like a caress I’ve been waiting my whole life for. “It’s okay to be scared, but don’t let fear keep you from going after what you want.”