“You’ve got the reins, Hallie. You call the shots. If you want a goodnight kiss, ask for one.”
She doesn’t.
I shouldn’t be surprised.
Instead, she moves to her tiptoes and takes one hand on either side of my face and pulls my face to hers. My arms tighten around her, my heart racing as she presses her lips to mine and holds them there for a beat. It’s fucking perfect, her soft hands on my cheeks, her lips sliding against mine, her body pressed to me.
I want more, but I don’t take it.
When she pulls back, her cheeks are flushed, her pupils are dilated, and her breathing is heavy as if we had made out for an hour, despite it being a chaste kiss. I know the feeling, because I’m breathing similarly.
Kissing Hallie is intoxicating.
She stares at me for a moment, hands still on my face, before she nods, as if she found that acceptable. I bite back a laugh but don’t fight off the smile.
“Good night, Jesse,” she says.
“Night, Hal.”
She bites her lip, then surprises me with another soft, closed-lipped kiss before stepping away and through her door.
On Saturday, I get a text before Emma’s up, and the grin that spreads across my face might just light up the entire room.
Do you have my creamer?
Yeah, why?
I’m out. Can I come for coffee?
I’m not sure if she’s actually out of her creamer, but in this moment, I do not care. Hallie is initiating contact, coming to my house outside her regular after-school hours on a Saturday, a day when I wasn’t sure I’d actually see her.
Only if you stay for breakfast.
The dots appear and disappear a few times before she replies.
Do you have bacon?
I don’t reply; instead, I send her a picture of the bacon and pancake ingredients.
She’s at my door in five minutes, her face fresh and clean without any makeup, her hair in a knot on top of her head. She’s in the boots I bought her and a pair of leggings, and when she takes off her jacket, I notice the sweatshirt is the one she stole from me after our night together.
It could be a coincidence, but that’s not Hallie’s style.
Everything Hallie does has an intention.
“Morning, Hallie,” I say with a grin. Her smile returns hesitantly as she walks toward me. She steps close enough so I can smell her toothpaste before hesitating, her tongue coming out to wet her lips.
“Where do we stand on good morning kisses?” she asks low.
I grin.
“Big fan,” I whisper, then put a hand to her waist and pull her into me. I kiss her hard, but not deep. No parting of lips, no nipping of teeth. Just her lips on mine, her body pressed tight. Her hands on my neck hold me tight, and when I pull back, she pulls me in again for another, then another. A series of five kisses, as if she can’t stop, as if she’s trying to sate that need brewing without pushing herself too far. Eventually, she pulls back, and I rest my forehead against hers.
“Morning, Jesse,” she whispers.
“Let’s get you some coffee, baby,” I murmur, and she grins wide.
That night, she stays at my place after Emma goes to sleep, this time watching some comedy that I barely know what is happening in because at some point, we lie down on the couch, her head on my bicep, her back to my front. All I can focus on is her soft, easy breaths, the occasional laugh, and the way it felt to have my entire world happy and safe and under one roof.
