“Cold?” I ask.
She shrugs but pulls her coat tighter, a motion I feel in my bones because all I want to do is wrap my arms around her and warm her up.
I settle for offering my arm. She eyes it for a beat, then loops her hand through, palm resting against the inside of my elbow. Her fingers curl, just enough pressure that I feel each point of contact.
We walk toward my truck. Our shoulders bump. She tips her head toward me, signs with her free hand when we stop at the crosswalk and uses her phone.
Bayleigh: I had an amazing time.
Her expression is earnest enough to make my chest ache.
“Me too,” I say. “Best night I’ve had in… a long time.”
She bites her lower lip, holding back a smile. Then flashes me her screen.
Bayleigh: You’re… kind.
My throat tightens.
“Only with you,” I admit.
She blinks like she’s filing that away somewhere important.
The ride back to her house is quiet, but I can’t help stealing glances at her. This is the part where I’m supposed to say goodnight. Be a gentleman. Walk away. Instead, I sit there like an idiot when we pull into her driveway.
She looks up at me, eyes searching my face. Then her fingers move, slow and deliberate so I won’t miss it.
Can I kiss you?
For a second, the world tilts. I’m glad I practiced this phrase in my room last night, or I might have been lost on what she said. But I wanted to be prepared for it if the moment came.
I’ve been kissed before. I’ve kissed more than my share of women. But nobody’s ever asked like this—straightforward, shy and bold at the same time, giving me the choice even though I’m the one who could easily take it.
My answer comes out a little rough.
“Yes,” I say, voice low. “Please.”
She smiles, just a ghost of it, and shifts her body as she leans closer. Close enough that her scent hits me full force—mint, green tea, and something softer underneath it that’s just her.
She lifts one of her hands, placing it against my shirt at the chest, and presses her mouth to mine.
Soft at first. Testing.
I keep my hands at my sides for half a heartbeat, every muscle straining not to move too fast. Then I can’t not touch her. My arms slip around her, fingers splaying over her soft sweater and her back.
She exhales against my lips, the tiniest sound. My control thins to a razor’s edge.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss. No rush. Just pressure and heat, and the soft drag of her mouth against mine. Her fingers curl tighter in my shirt, pulling me closer. When her tongue brushes my lower lip, curiosity and invitation in one, a low noise rumbles in my chest before I can stop it.
Fuck.
I part my mouth for her, meeting her halfway. Our tongues touch—just a light stroke, a teasing flick—and my whole body lights up. Need slides down my spine, pools low in my gut. My hands tighten on her waist, pulling her flush to me. Her body fits against mine like she was made for this spot, like the space between us never made sense in the first place.
For a second—just one second—I imagine what it would be like to pin her against the car, to taste her until she’s breathless, to scentmark every inch of her and drown in her slick?—
Stop.
I drag the thought back, hard. I am not Joseph. I am not some asshole using her body.
