“Yes.”
Her confirmation is all the answer I need before my lips drop to hers for a second time.
23
HANNAH
My second kiss is much better than my first one.
Thomas sweetly cups my cheeks in his large palms as our lips press together. For the first time in maybe… ever, my mind goes completely silent as I lose myself in this. His warm body leans into mine. My palm presses against his chest where I feel his steady heartbeat, the rhythm keeping me grounded .
His tongue slides out, tracing my lip in a slow seductive taunt that sends goosebumps across my skin. I clutch at his shirt, my fingers digging into the cotton. My lips part as Thomas slips his tongue into my mouth, our bodies melding together. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of as he moves one hand down to my waist, pulling our hips together. I never want to leave this moment, this exquisite feeling of wholeness where my mind isn't running a mile a minute and telling me to overthink every action or word out of my mouth.
Thomas pulls our lips apart for a moment, letting us catch our breath before pressing two more kisses onto my lips in quick succession. His thumb caresses my cheek,moving back and forth in a soothing motion. When we part, he barely moves, resting our foreheads together.
“That was better than our first kiss,” Thomas states, not leaving room for much argument, not that I’d argue. I wholeheartedly agree as I nod against his forehead.
“Yeah, it was,” I breathe.
Arson chooses that moment to force himself between our legs, pushing us apart in an effort to gather our attention. “Sorry, Arson,” Thomas says with a chuckle. He smooths his finger across my cheek one last time before dropping his hand. We turn, and Thomas slides his palm into mine, squeezing gently.
“I know we’ve been through a lot the last few days, and this isn’t conventional by any means, but I’m excited to see where this takes us,” he says, giving me a goofy grin, showing off both of his dimples.
I take a deep breath as we start walking the gravel path again. “I am too,” I admit, realizing that despite all my current anxiety over every inch of my life, I can’t wait to see what happens next with us. Even if it’s only for a short time until we go back to our real lives.
He squeezes my hand. “Good. Can I tell you something crazy?”
I raise my brow in question. “Sure?”
“I have this weird thing that I like to do.”
I wait for him to elaborate, and he doesn’t for a long moment, so I prompt him. “Okay?”
He takes a deep breath, chuckling on the exhale. “You’re probably going to think I sound ridiculous.”
“I promise I won’t,” I reply. My curiosity is officially piqued, and I need to know what he’s about to say.
“I have lucky underwear.”
Okay, that is nowhere near anything I could have anticipatedhim saying. I let out the smallest of giggles as I reply, “What makes them lucky?”
“I suppose it’s not one specific pair, and maybe it’s more of a superstition rather than anything, but I think they’re lucky.” He pauses, waiting for me to say something, and when I don’t, he continues. “Anytime I need a little bit of good luck, or think something good could be coming, I throw on a pair of my superhero underwear. I have a bunch, but I only wear them when I think I need the extra boost or good vibes. I wore them the day I got accepted to the Police Academy, the day I got Arson, and I wore them on our first date.”
He glances down at me and smiles. “I can keep going, but I think history has proved itself.”
I can’t stop myself from asking, “Even though what happened that night was the worst?”
He shrugs. “I mean, that’s a fair point, but it also brought us together in a way.”
“I suppose you could look at it that way.”
“I’m a glass half full kind of guy, freckles.”
“I’m gathering that,” I respond as we reach the cottage, heading up the wooden steps. Thomas opens the door with his free hand, and Arson darts inside. He guides me inside, and the cool air on my skin feels nice. “How do you decide when to wear them?”
“Sometimes it's a vibe, or if I know something might be happening that I want to manifest good luck for, I’ll wear them.” He shrugs, letting go of my hand to close the door.
“That’s a lot of trust in some underwear,” I respond, heading to the kitchen to grab my water bottle and fill it. A nervous jitter runs through my body. How are we so casually talking about his underwear?
