Then he winks. A full, devastating, heart-stuttering wink.
My breath catches in my throat.
He starts the engine, and I smile as it comes to life, vibrating beneath us. He backs out onto the street with one hand on the wheel and the other drifting across the center console. His fingers brush against mine once…twice…three times as if he’s testing the waters, before he finally captures my hand completely.
Then he lifts it to his mouth, peppering light kisses on my knuckles. He’s not rushing, not teasing. Heat climbs up my neck. My toes curl in my shoes. And I squirm in my seat.
But he doesn’t stop. And he doesn’t make me feel embarrassed.
Every stoplight becomes its own moment, brief but intense, and I secretly start wishing we hit every one on the way to my house.
At the first one, he looks over and says, “You look unbelievable tonight.”
At the next, “I can’t believe I get to take you home like this.”
He makes sure he faces me each time so I can see every word on his lips. Even when the light turns green, he doesn’t move until he knows I understand what he’s saying.
At the third, he squeezes my hand and asks, “Feeling okay, sweetheart?”
And for the first time in my life, it’s not a lie when I speak. “More than okay.”
By the time he turns onto my street, I’m clinging to these moments, knowing I’m going to cherish them forever.
He parks in front of my house but leaves the truck running. He moves his seat back, then shifts his body, turning so that he can see me fully.
“I want to ask you something.” He lifts his hand, rubbing the back of his neck as I see indecision on his face. “I’ve been practicing something. Fuck, it’s not perfect, Bayleigh. But I want to try.”
I’m starting to get worried. Was all the sweetness leading up to him telling me he doesn’t want to see me anymore? My mind knows it doesn’t make sense, but I’m so used to being torn apart after something good happens.
He smiles, soft, kind. I’m so confused.
He takes a deep breath, then his fingers start moving, awkwardly, but he’s trying.
Can I kiss you goodnight? Just once?
My lip trembles, and the tears start welling up before I can blink them away.
“Fuck, fuck. I’m sorry. Did I sign something wrong? I watched a video. I swore that was how to ask. Unless you don’t want to kiss me.” I can see the sheer panic on his face.
He learned sign language for me. Not by asking me, or me showing him. He actually took the time to find out how to ask me something on his own.
I reach out, cupping his face with my hand, and speak.
“Yes. Kiss me.”
He smiles, then leans in, as my heart pounds.
The kiss starts soft, his hand cradling my jaw, his mouth brushing mine like he’s asking again, even now if this is okay. Confirming that I want this, that I want him, just as much ashe wants me. My fingers go to his chest, tangling in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and the kiss deepens, warm and breath-stealing, our mouths a language all their own.
I don’t know how long we kiss. A minute, twenty. Time moves snail-like as we make out in his vehicle.
I feel his breath hitch when I press closer to him. The way his fingers slide to the back of my neck. Every second of this time with him is burning into my memory.
It’s almost too much.
I finally break away, breathless and dizzy, my lips tingling. His lips chase mine for a second before I pull back fully.
“You’re trouble,” he says, smiling like he doesn’t mind that one bit.
