Have I lost my mind to behave like this?
And in public?
Someone is bound to recognize me.
I pull back quickly, turning my face, heart pounding, while my lips tingle with the kiss that didn't happen. He exhales slowly and covers his mouth with his hand like he’s trying not to move too fast.
“Sorry.” I smile, small and shaky. “I should probably get home.”
He nods while a serious expression takes over his face. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line.”
“It’s fine.” I don’t look at him as I step over to the exit and continue to the icehouse to return my skates and get my shoes. The silence stretches. It’s thick with tension and every time I sneak a look at him, he’s giving me a heated gaze. My heart races, tangling up into a mess of want and confusion.
This was a bad idea.
Who really thinks a non-date is going to stay a non-date?
I’m screaming at myself for being such a fool, all while we walk to the parking lot, and I reach my car and fumble for my keys in my pocket.
He shifts beside me. “I don’t want to leave it like this. I don’t want things to be weird. I wasn’t trying to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I know we set boundaries about this not being a date ”—he glances at the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and then raises his gaze back to mine—“but skating with you like that to that song just did something to me where I momentarily forgot, and it was my fault. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me.” My words tumble out with a shaky breath as I can’t believe I’m about to be honest. Before I lose my nerve, I go on, “I liked it. That was the problem. I liked skating with you and being here with you. I liked it all a little too much.”
His brows soften as his gaze hovers over me, trailing from my eyes to my lips and back again. There’s something unspoken in the way he looks at me. It’s tender and intense, like he’s fighting the urge to dive in again.
I don’t say a word.
For a brief moment, I focus on my car as my brain seems to be sending out a last warning to me to get in and drive away before everything changes. I don’t heed that warning. Instead, I turn back to him, and against my better judgment, I tilt my face up and stare into his eyes.
He leans in so slowly, my lips are practically burning by the time his breath brushes mine, warm, inviting, and I feel it all over. My heart ramps up. My stomach tightens. The distance between us shrinks to nothing. Suddenly I forget how to stand.
His eyes flick to mine one more time.
And for a moment, I can’t breathe.
Because I don’t want him to stop.
I want him to kiss me so badly, my lips part.
He dips a little closer. His nose brushes mine. The air between us thickens.
His lips barely graze mine for a whisper of a second that sets every nerve in my body on fire. I sway into him, drawn like gravity, but I catch myself in time and turn my head away while my breath catches in my throat. My whole face burns, and I don’t dare meet his eyes. “Sorry,” I murmur, though I’m not sure if I’m apologizing for pulling away or for wanting to kiss him.
He doesn’t move, but his tone is a little hoarse. “You don’t have to be.”
I finally glance up, and the way he’s looking at me is almost too much. “It sounds so bad, and like a cheesy line, but it really isn’t you,” I say, “It’s just…you know, I can’t do this, and I really should get home.”
“I get it.” He nods, releasing me gently. I put one hand on my door, but he beats me to the door handle as he reaches around me and opens it for me. I hop in, but he shifts his body in the space between my door and my seat, blocking me from closing the door. He stares at me intensely. “Can I call you?”
No!
I want to tell him to go before I do something reckless again. But the words stay on the tip of my tongue.
Not when he’s looking at me likethat.
He’s got one hand propped against my car door, his body angled enough to cage me in, without actually touching me. It’s maddening how close he is, how aware I am of the heat permeating off his body.
His other hand rests casually in his pocket, but there’s nothing casual about the rest of him. His shoulders are broad, likely from all the years of playing hockey. His mouth is slightly parted, like he wants to maybe say something but hasn’t decided how to say it. Maybe he’s thinking about kissing me again?
