“Behind my back?”
“Just nowhere on my body,” I tell him.
“I was hoping to test out my hair-caressing—”
“Do not finish that sentence,” I interrupt. “I’m already going to need an anti-emetic as it is.”
“Anti what?”
“Something to make me not throw up,” I tell him.
“That’s cold.”
“Whatever. Let’s just do this before I lose my nerve.”
“All right,” he says, moving closer to me on the couch.
He closes his eyes and starts to lean in, and without even thinking about it, I naturally move away from him.
He opens his eyes again.
“What?”
“I want you to tell me the rules one more time. I’m not going to listen to any excuses if you cross the line here.”
He rolls his eyes. “One kiss,” he says, “30 seconds or less—”
“I will be timing it,” I tell him. “There’s a clock on the wall right there, and if we’re coming to 30 and you’re not pulling away and apologizing for badgering me into doing this, I’m going to leave a big red print of my hand across your cheek, got it? Now what are the rest of the rules?”
He sighs. “Thirty seconds, one kiss, and a little tongue is permissible, but nothing over the top or down the throat.”
“Where are your hands?”
“Somewhere else,” he says.
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning not on you.”
“That’s right.”
“Can we just do this thing? I’m starting to lose my nerve.”
“If you lost your nerve, I think I’d be pretty okay with that.”
“All right,” he says. “Tell me when to start.”
“No moaning or any other—you know what? Don’t make any sound at all. I don’t even want to hear you breathing.”
“I’ve got it!” Mike says with a laugh.
“All right,” I say, watching the secondhand on the clock. “And, go.”
He leans in and our lips meet.
It’s weird, but it’s not terrible, I guess.
What the hell is he doing with his tongue?