“What’s rolling around in your beautiful mind?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes at me. One corner of her mouth ticks up. “Beautiful?”
“Yeah, beautiful. Big and organized and calculated and stuffed with information. Maybe too much, but still beautiful.”
“Your brain is beautiful, too. Even the dark parts. You just have to learn to find the beauty in them.” Sutton’s arm stretches forward and rubs a thumb over my temple.
“I’m trying.” She pulls back, but I catch her wrist. My thumb brushing over her racing pulse point. “I’ve got a good teacher.”
She huffs, loudly. Then lets out a singular laugh. “Yeah, well, I don’t.”
“You don’t?”
“No! He’s never asked me once to practice kissing.”
“That’s a damn shame. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to see you kissing other people.”
“Maybe he should be the practice dummy then.”
“Sutton…”
“Cooper,” she mimics.
“You’ve been drinking?—”
“And I could still recite the entire periodic table or list all NHL MVPs from the past decade.”
That makes me laugh. I almost choke because I was inhaling when she cut me off.
“Prove it,” I dare.
Sutton groans dramatically, head falling into the headrest, and the smirk on her lips is tempting me. She rattles off the elements—in order—till she gets to osmium, that’s when I stop her.
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“You are only mildly, just a teensy bit, intoxicated.” One corner of my mouth creeps up the side of my face. Muscles as loose as my tone.
“And smart.”
“And smart.”
“Don’t forget you told me I’m beautiful.” I won’t. Ever.
“You are only mildly, just a teensy bit, intoxicated, smart,andbeautiful. Better?”
“Much.” Sutton settles back into her seat, she shifts, dropping one of her knees down. Then the other. “So you gonna kiss me?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Youwant to.” Want is too little a word for this. Need. Might die if I don’t. Desperately crave. Poisoned, and this is lifesaving.
“For practice?” I hope she doesn’t catch the instability in my tone. My brain is playing a three-way game of tug-o-war.
“Practice.” She hunches a shoulder as if she too is using the word as a scapegoat.
Motioning her to me, I curl two fingers in my direction. “Come here,” I beckon, dipping the words in honey and demand.
