Do you have aroommate?
How old areyou?
I ask none of these questions, because I’m not supposed to know the answers. That’s the point oftonight.
His hand creeps across the seat and grabs mine, fingers intertwining. He has strong, long fingers. Big, thick, tan hands that look capable.Since when are hands this interesting?Somehow Isaac’sare.
“I’m leaving the country in a few days.” He says it so suddenly that I jump a tiny bit. “It’s a long trip. I can extend it and stay longer if I…” He trails off, surveying me. “Sorry. More than you need to be told. I just wanted you to know I’m leaving, before this goes anyfurther.”
“I’m OK with that,” I say. It’s a good thing, actually. Cut-and-dry is what Ineed.
He nods, scraping his free hand across his chin. “I hope you don’t mind that my place is mostly packed up. All my stuff is going intostorage.”
“I’m OK with that,too.”
The cab comes to a stop in front of a row of brightly lit storefronts. Isaac drops my hand and removes his wallet, swiping his credit card through the machine on the back of the drivers seat. He steps out and I open my door. I’m halfway out when Isaac rounds the back end of the cab. Making a face, he hustles to grab the opendoor.
“You should of let me get your door,” hechides.
“That’s what people do when they’re on dates.” I step onto the sidewalk. “We’re not on adate.”
“True. If we were on a date, I would’ve picked you up at your house, not at a bar.” He steps closer tome.
“Oh yeah?” My eyebrows raise. “What else would you have donedifferently?”
“Probably brought youflowers.”
His hand extends across the short distance between our chests. I take his pretend flowers. “I don’t understand why guys give girls flowers. They are literally dying plants wrapped in tissuepaper.”
Isaac laughs and takes another step, closing most of the space between us, and his arm cradles my lower back. “So you’re saying you’re aromantic?”
A disbelieving sound bubbles up from the back of my throat. “Hardly.”
He pulls me in closer until we’re pressed up against each other. My hands fall on his upper arms, and my furious heartbeats pound a loud rhythm in mychest.
“If I kissed you now, in front of all these people, would you think it was romantic?” He’s so close I can almost feel his words hit mylips.
Confused, I lean my head back and look to the rain slickened street, where I see nothing but the red and yellow lights of cars driving past. I look the other direction and see what he's talkingabout.
Behind us, there’s a packed ice cream shop, tables full, and here we are standing in front of the long window. My eyes sweep over all the interested gazes, and my cheeks catchfire.
“Romantic?” Isaac asks when I look back athim.
“Yes,” I breathe theword.
His mouth is on mine before I finish my breath. He pushes me back, past the window, and up against the brick wall that separates the ice cream place from itsneighbor.
His hands are in my hair, running down my neck, tracing my collarbone. My fingers skim the muscles in his upper back, cling to his shoulders. I’m feeling things, good things, but my nerves are back, pushing into the rational part of my brain, trying to make a stronghold before I’m swept away by hormones.Is this a bad idea? Am I going to get hurt?I’m still kissing him, but I’m hesitant, and I wonder if he can senseit.
Isaac puts one hand on the back of my head, protecting it from the wall. Sensation takes over, and I feel his desire. It’s hot like a flame, thirsty like a parchedthroat.
I ache for him in a way I never expected and neverwanted.
“I’m not in the mood for ice cream anymore,” I whisper, then pull his lower lip into my mouth and suck on it. He moans into my mouth and pulls back to look at me before diving back in. His kisses are hot and wet and his hand keeps sliding up my stomach and then back down to my waist, like he’s reminding himself where we are. I’m glad he still has some sense because I have almost none rightnow.
Isaac pulls away, a new smile on his face. This one is lustful, a half curl of one side of hismouth.
My breath is long and loud, dragging, and it clears my mind a tiny bit. “Is this a badidea?”
