“Me too,” I repeat.
Then we’re kissing again, and I think I could get used to a challenge if it tastes like Nina and cinnamon and promise.
Never mind kissing on New Year’s Eve, on a stage, in front of an audience. This is all about us.
My hands gently rest on Nina’s jaw as I draw her closer. The way she responds, so willing and confident, could be addictive.
Never mind. I’m already hooked—was done for the minute I saw her across the ballroom on New Year’s Eve.
The little sigh that escapes her lips, the way her fingers tangle in my hair like she can’t get close enough, and the beat of her heart pressed against mine is the fulfillment of a longing I didn’t know I had.
What’s better, she’s the only one who could make me feel this way.
How do I know? I’ve kissed plenty of women before, but nothing has ever felt like this, like coming home and setting off fireworks at the same time.
It’s comfortable and dazzling.
Cozy andcomplete.
An astounding combination of sweetness and total, utter awe.
She tastes like the homemade cookies we’ve been sneaking from her kitchen. She smells delicious, like cinnamon.
I inhale deeply, then move my mouth against hers in a way that speaks without words. I want her. She’s wanted. This kiss is something more than a silly entertainment showcase.
It’s everything and I’m obsessed.
When she presses closer in response, her hands sliding up to rest on my shoulders, what feels like a boulder lifts off my chest. In its place, I experience a sense of settling, like pieces of a puzzle clicking into place, like the flawless flick of my wrist sending a hockey puck into the net.
It’s perfect. So is she.
Whatever is going on between us is beyond just attraction or chemistry, though there’s plenty of that. This is something deeper, something that scares and thrills me in equal measure.
I smooth my thumb along her jaw, then follow with my lips, doing the same along her neck, traveling to her collarbone, charting a path before returning to her mouth. All the while, I marvel at how snugly she fits in my arms, how right this feels despite all the craziness that brought us together.
Her lips are soft and responsive, and when she makes a small sound, I have to remind myself to breathe, to go slow, to savor this instead of getting lost in the wanting.
The kiss evolves naturally, becoming something richer and more intimate without losing its sweetness.
A heartbeat is a fraction of a second, but it’s also something that tracks the course of a person’s lifetime. I feel her pulse against my chest, quick and fluttery, matching the rhythm of my own as they weave together.
The tips of her fingers pad lightly against the anglesof my jaw as she presses little pecks to my lips, like she needs to breathe, but doesn’t want to.
There’s trust in the way she melts against me, in how her guard seems to drop completely, and I want to be worthy of that trust.
When her fists curl into the fabric of my shirt, sinking into me, I think maybe this accidental marriage isn’t such a disaster after all. Maybe it’s the best mistake I’ve ever made.
When we break apart this time, her eyes are sparkling with wonder. I don’t yet know her well enough to know what it means, but I want to, in the deepest part of myself. I want to know and treasure and love this woman, even if we’ve done things in a “bonkers” kind of way.
“I think maybe my father was wrong about hockey players,” she says softly.
“At least this one.”
“Maybe the right one doesn’t put hockey first.”
My lips lift with a smile. “Maybe the right one puts family first.”
“Maybe the right one is worth breaking a promise for,” she whispers.
