I’ve been trying to lock down my attraction to him, but now that I’ve had a taste?
Impossible.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
ZIGGY
Ican’t breathe.
Kennedy’s tongue is filling my mouth, and his kiss is so deep and so powerful, I’m not sure my feet are still touching the ground.
I’m spinning with how something can feel this good. How one single thing can bring every nerve in my body alive to the point where I’m confident I could do this forever. The kiss is so Kennedy in a way I can’t put into words. His passion and the way he’s not holding anything back transfers into the kiss, and all I can do is hope that it’s as good for him as it is for me.
As far as first kisses go, this one has to be the best.
It’s made me so goddamn hard I can’t think straight.
But for as incredible as it is, it doesn’t keep that little voice quiet for long.
That little voice that took over when Kennedy and that guy were speaking. The one that told me Kennedy is and always will be too much for me.
Too bright.
Too happy.
Too friendly.
It’s no surprise that we can’t even come into a small town without people wanting him, so if he has all of these options, why the hell would he pick me?
I’m not worth the clothes on my back, and kissing him like this isn’t fair. He’ll want to know why, and those aren’t words I can give him.
It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I rip myself from his mouth and stagger back out of his hold. His lips are stupidly red, and my top one is scratchy from his mustache, but as our eyes meet, his widen, and everything we did sinks in.
“Ziggy … what … what was that?”
I wish I knew. The only thought running through my head was how desperately I wanted to make him mine. How I wanted all those other people to stop looking at him, and him to stop looking at them. I want to be the one who gets his smiles and his closeness and his kisses.
So I took one.
And it’s only hitting me now how deeply stupid that was.
If I want Kennedy to pick me, he has topickme. I can’t go around always taking what I want. His surprise melts into concern, and seeing him look at me like that is too much. I don’t want him to worry about me. I don’t want him to kiss me out of some misplaced pity. He thought I was mad at him, and I couldn’t tell him that the only one I was mad at was myself. Mad that I couldn’t have an easy conversation with him. Mad that I couldn’t hold his attention. Mad that I’ll always be theshyone he has to make excuses for.
I wanted the kiss to take away his guilt, and for him to know that I’m not mad. Not at him.
And he kissed me back.
It’s only now hitting me that he did it to make sure I wasn’t upset.
Fuck.
What have I done?
Before he can reassure me or try to make everything okay, I turn on my heel and run. As soon as I leave the safety of the awning, rain buckets down over me, seeping through my hair and my shirt. The storm is so close that the thunder is directly overhead, and it’s impossible to see anything through the rain until lightning flashes across the sky.
This storm won’t last long—they never do—but I need to put as much distance between myself and Kennedy as possible before it ends.
