“You just dared me.”
A blush dusts his cheeks. “I meant later. At the party.”
I press my hip against the edge of the table, let the solid wood dig into my skin to yank me back to reality. “I’d do it if you want me to.”
“Okay,” Lewis says, voice grating over the word. He still hasn’t let go of my hand, and there’s that blond strand again, messing up the neat line of his forehead.
His hair—
My fingers tingle with the wish to touch it, tidy it, mess it up.
“But,” I hear myself say, “based on our past performances, I’m not sure that kissing you would be the best idea. We’re not very good actors, remember? What if you jump away once I get closer to you?”
“That’s true,” Lewis comments. “Although unlikely at this point,” he adds, quieter.
“Right. To avoid that from happening again, let’s consider what we’re both good at.”
He smirks. “Stomaching bad conference coffee?”
“The other thing.”
A wrinkle appears in his forehead. “Science?”
I nod and step closer, until my knees almost brush his. “We should approach this methodically. If we decompose romantic relationships into their building blocks, we have, among others, emotional and physical intimacy.”
“So?” Lewis asks. “I’m still not following.”
“So, that’s how we convince ourselves to make this relationship seem real. We’ve been telling each other about our lives all day, but that’s not so different from what friends would do, right?” I bite my lip, cringing at the eager lilt of my voice.
His fingers, locked around mine, tighten.
“What’s really missing is the body contact. The intimacy.”
That’s not quite the truth though. We’ve been touching for the better part of the day and are holding hands right as we speak, but somehow, it doesn’t feel like enough. Somehow, I cannot stop thinking about the rough slide of his tongue against my thumb. Somehow, I keep wondering how it would feel dipping into the corner of my mouth.
“So essentially, you’re hypothesizing that a kiss now…” he spells out my chain of logic, “would trick our bodies into the right mindset for later?”
“Precisely.” Holding his gaze, I bring our hands to my hip and when he spreads his fingers, his thumb drags over my hip bone.
His eyes follow the path of it. “Yeah? You think it’s that easy?”
“I’ve given you the hypothesis,” I inform him. “Maybe you should test it.”
One corner of his mouth ticks up. “Right. Any other steps you’ve thought about? The experimental procedure?”
With how tingly my entire body feels, I’m surprised I’m not visibly shaking from his touch at this point. “I’d say this is more of an exploratory study, though I know these don’t quite match your high scientific standards—”
Suddenly he’s up and crowds me against the lip of the table, arms bracketed around me.
“Will you shut up.” He cups my chin with one hand to tip up my face. His gaze is dark and probing in a way that should make me feel vulnerable, but all I feel is the thrill of anticipation, a whisper of longing. With the heel of his hand on the base of my throat, he keeps me at a narrow distance, sensing my racing pulse. The air between us grows heavier with every passing breath, and I’m waiting, yearning for the tipping point.
“For practice?” he murmurs.
“For practice,” I breathe.
Lewis runs his hand up my throat, and when his thumb skims over my bottom lip, some sound must rip out of me, because he quickly moves in and catches my whimper with his mouth.
His lips against mine are coffee sweetened with a hint of mint, and I discover that Lewis kisses just like he does everything else. Carefully, measured, and meticulous. I can’t decide if his languid pace is infuriating or deliciously right, and when his fingertips skid against that sensitive spot behind my ear, they tug the barest whisper of a sigh out of me. The flutter behind my rib cage morphs into a heavy thud.
