I shrug. “All kids learn the colors. They’re a preschool staple.”
“But not all kids knowbadasssongs about the colors.” His eyes spark with joviality—he’s clearly proud of his slang-y curse.
“Very good,” I say. “You keep teaching me beautiful Pashto words, and I’ll make a gutter mouth of you.”
“Maybe you can teach me a song about rude words.”
I laugh. “There’re more important things I should teach you first.”
He pivots, bringing a leg up so he can face me squarely. His knee rests against my thigh, barely, but the contact feels illicit and exciting, like the zap of a live wire. My pulse kicks into high gear as my gaze rises to his, heated but somber.
We’re not teasing anymore.
His voice is a breeze in the otherwise silent room. “What can you teach me, Elise?”
I let go of a shuddery breath. “What do you want to know, Mati?”
He reaches for me, slowly, cautiously. His hand, warm, roughened with callouses, lands on my arm. I look down to find that his complexion is tawny and mine’s like cream, and something about the contrast speaks to me, whispers,This is right.
He strokes the crook of my elbow, where my skin is tissue-paper thin. His fingers draw tiny circles, trace my forearm, brush the inside of my wrist. It’s innocent, his touch, and it’s everything but: stirring and sensual and suggestive. My breath comes rapidly and I’m hot everywhere, tingling from the roots of my hair to the soles of my feet. I’m certain he notices because his face is cracked open like a book, inscribed with words likesatisfiedandsmugand—I think—longing.
I capture his hand, the hand with the gentle, meandering fingers,and realize, mortifyingly enough, I’m shaking. I can barely look at him, barely form a coherent thought. I was never tongue-tied when I was with Kurt, never timid or on edge. I never worried about impressing him or saying the right thing. He was a kind, handsome boy, but he was just a boy.
Mati… Mati is more.
I raise a hand to his cheek, grazing his perpetual stubble. His eyes close and I’m relieved. The way I’m feeling, awestruck and deferential and like I’m seconds from floating away, must be so obvious.
He keeps his eyes shut as I pass my fingers along his forehead, his jaw, his lids. I run my hand through his thick hair, something I’ve wanted to do for eternities. I touch his lips, feather-light, solicitous, attentive, like a kiss. I feel his warm exhale.
He covers my hand with his, stilling it, pulling it down to rest on his leg. He opens his eyes. He looks at me the way he did that first day at the beach, after we slogged out of the water, winded and weary. He looks at me like he sees through me, beyond clothes and hair and flesh—like he seesintome.
“I know what you can teach me,” he says, a rumble of thunder deep in his throat.
I incline toward him, like he’s a magnet and I’m iron. “What?”
His gaze falls, then snaps back to mine. “Teach me how to kiss.”
I retreat, stunned. “But you can’t—”
“I can. I want to, Elise.”
He’s so composed, so steadfast. Meanwhile, my heart’s pounding and my skin’s thrumming and my head’s going crazy. I want to kiss him, too—I’mdyingto kiss him—but I wonder if I’m corrupting this boy who’s pure and stalwart, unwavering in his beliefs.
I want to, Elise.
Mati isn’t corruptible. Being here, being together… It’s as much his decision as it is mine.
I bring my palms up to rest against his cheeks. I feel his apprehension, his inexperience, through the heat of his skin, like they’remy own. But he’s wearing a wisp of a smile and, God, he’s looking at me like he longs for me—like heachesfor me.
I push onto my knees, matching his height. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” he whispers.
I tilt my head and slowly lean in.
MATI
Her lips feel like flower petals,
