I understood her being neighborly and inviting me over for a home-cooked dinner after we’d become friends and all, butwine on the porchfeels awfully like a date to me.
The thing is, there’s a magnetic pull from me directly to Sophie that pulsates, telling me that I want to have wine on the porch with her. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
I grab the wine, and she snatches up a heavy throw blanket from the sofa, and we head out to the front porch, taking a seat on the wood swing in the corner. The swing creaks when it pulls back, but it’s nothing we can’t ignore. I don’t protest when she offers me half of the blanket and we spread it over both our laps. It’s chilly, but not past the point of comfort, and if anything it just gives us an incentive to sit close.
She swaps her smile from the one that was vibrant, full of life, and teasing to something more secret, that she hasn’t shared with me before.
It's flirty and languid.
Beautiful.
Directed at me.
And so, so confusing!
There’s not a soul in sight. No reason for us to act like we’re a couple, yet her smile is more a genuineI’m-interested-in-yousmile than anything she’s given me thus far.
She sets about removing the cork from the wine, and I take the glasses and hold them out for her. After she fills each glass, she folds her half of the blanket over, and leans way forward to place the bottle on the porch, then leans back on the porch swing, and snuggles even closer to me. Her eyes pace between my face to the bushes behind us. After catching her staring at the bushes a second time, I get paranoid. “Is there something in there you’re seeing?” I look around but she quickly drops her hand tomy leg!
“Oh, no!” she blurts out. “Just watching the wind blow through the leaves.” She leans closer, bringing a waft of her scent right into my airway. It’s the smell of honey and vanilla. Her voice lowers to a sultry tone, and she whispers, “Tell me about this wine,” right as she takes a sip.
“I don’t really know anything about it. I grabbed the bottle that was on sale.” Her eyes lock on mine, sending pulsating spirals, and I get the impression she has something rather specific in her mind. She takes the glass from my hand and sets it alongside hers on the floor next to the wine bottle. Her gaze flickers to my mouth and back to my eyes. All her facial features soften as she bites down on her bottom lip while a little giggle leaks from her lips.
It’s clear she wants me to kiss her.
My mind flashes back to our no-kissing rule, and I at once disregard that as a boundary that was placed for our acting, and we clearlyaren’tperforming right now.
Something is building between us, some sort of electromagnetic chemistry.
I don’t have one doubt that I could kiss her and get away with it, despite the pact, but it feels sort ofrushed.
This whole date seemsrushed, and with the way she’s looking at me, I can tell she’s interested, but she did just have a public breakup. Maybe this is more about her being lonely than wanting to be with me. It’s one thing to be a fake date, but I’m not going to be somebody’s rebound guy.
Yet, she smells so so so—
“Call me crazy.” She reaches out, playfully tracing a finger on my chin. “I just have the sudden urge to kiss you.”
My breath hitches.There’s no misreading that.My heart motors against my ribcage, and racing thoughts funnel through my mind.Kiss me, being the loudest one.“Doesn’t that break the pact?”
“It does,” she whispers, the pads of her fingers still intact on my chin. “Is that okay if I promise it won’t change anything? It’s just a fun kiss.”
A frantic flutter slams into my heart, nearly halting it.
There’s no such thing as a fun kiss. Not in my book. I’ve done the heartbreak thing before, and it’s too powerful to mess around with this stuff. I’m not about to be someone’s toy. But . . . if she has another idea, one that means we break the pact because we both feel this chemistry pulling us together, then I can go with that.
“You can kiss me.” I place my hand on her hand that’s still securely holding my leg. I may not be able to diagnose what sparked this urge of hers, but one thing I know is if I kiss her, she’s mine.
There'll be no more games.
“But if you do,” I say, lowering my voice into a warning, “it changesthis whole thing. We can’t circle back to a talking stage, and I don’t do situationships that neither of us understand. No more faking it.
If you kiss me,you're mine.”
Her eyes waver for a mere moment, back to my lips, before hooking on mine again. Goosebumps dot my spine as the puck is in her possession. One tiny kiss gives me permission to claim her, and I wait patiently for her to either agree or disagree to the new terms.
Her eyelids close at the slowest speed, and she is unwavering in yield to me.
I cup her cheek in the palm of my hand, letting my fingers brush below her ears, and even though I’m sitting, my knees buckle. Instinctively my eyes close when our lips bond together, and I plummet into her warmth. My heart drums against my chest, wringing my breath out from me.
