We stayed like that for a minute, unmoving, content to be close to each other. Staring at a simple photograph. Fortunately, most of the guests didn’t have an interest in whale photography, so it was just us in this corner of the gallery.
At least it was, until I heard footsteps approach.
“They’re taking photos of you,” Macey said under her breath.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a pair of girls, probably around Daphne’s age. One held up a phone unabashedly as the other hastily threw hers back into her bag.
“Not me,” I corrected. “Us.”
One girl, the brave one who still held up her phone, shouted, “Kiss!”
Her friend turned away in embarrassment.
Did people think we were trained animals who did things on command?
“No, thanks. His lips are chapped,” Macey joked to them.
A joke at my expense, but it was better than the alternative: a forced kiss for other people’s viewing pleasure. I pinched her side, and she let out a giggle.
“So?” The girl looked like she was going to protest further until her friend dragged her toward the next exhibition room.
Once they were gone, I asked in mock offense, “I have chapped lips?”
Macey shrugged, turning around in my arms. She touched one finger to my bottom lip. “You can borrow my lip balm.”
Did she notice the way my breath grew heavier after her touch? This close, it’d be impossible not to. It was hard not to look at her, but at the same time, it was more difficult to look. Every time she tilted her head, I had to press down the desire to reach out and kiss there, right at the point of her pulse. I flicked my tongue against my lips and turned away.
“You’re going to regret saying that.”
“Why?”
I glanced around once, then twice, noting a lack of guests in the immediate area. When I stepped back, I tugged Macey back with me until we were both fast walking toward the edge of the gallery. Near the corner, to the reading room.
It was unlocked, and we slipped in unnoticed.
“Noah?” Macey asked into the darkness as I found the light switch and turned it on.
I didn’t answer, instead stepping in front of her and tugging at the elastic band at the end of her braid. I placed it in my pocket, working slowly to undo each fold of the braid. Her hair felt soft and silky in between my fingers, and it looked almost white against my palm.
When I reached the base of the braid by her scalp, I tugged. Macey followed the movement easily, tilting her head up and to the side for me. Right where I was craving earlier. I planted a kiss on the underside of her jaw.
“What are we doing?” Macey’s voice was a hushed breath that turned into a moan when I moved my lips down her neck, pausing at the spot that I gathered she liked most.
It happened so fast—and I was already so lightheaded, intoxicated from contact—that we found ourselves falling against the couch in the corner of the room. Macey hit the cushions, me leaning over her, the high velvet back of the couch engulfing us. My knee pressed into the cushions between her legs.
“You said you didn’t want to kiss my lips because they’re chapped.” Not a great joke considering I did use Chapstick regularly. “So I’m working around that.”
“But I like kissing you,” she said in a low voice, like a prayer.
My mouth found its place by the shell of her ear. “I think you’ll like this, too.”
Pinned as she was under the weight of my body, Macey’s eyes widened. “We’re in public.”
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.” I emphasized my point with one quick peck against her cheek.
“No, I want to. It’s just…”
“We’ll have to be quiet.”
