Kiss me. Fucking kiss me.
“You made me jealous tonight. Do you know that? I’ve never been jealous before, not until you.”
As fucked up as it is, his words excite me. Sometimes you need to hear that you can make the person you’re in love with feel something. I go to speak, but he continues, silencing me.
“Then when we danced, I fell in love with the dress for another reason. I got to touch you, feel how soft your skin was under my hand. I hated walking away from you. I hated knowing that you would be going back to him. I wanted you to be my date. I wanted to show you off and show everyone who caught my eye I was taken. We would have danced all night,” he says gruffly and touches me lightly.
I can’t help but shiver at his touch. The air feels electric, the tension between us undeniable. I like him, and he likes me.
No, not like. Love.
It’s always been us, but I never thought we would make it to this point. It always felt like a pipe dream. Like winning the lottery.
I’ve waited for years for him to say these words, and now that he has, I’m speechless. My heart feels like it’s about to beat out of my chest, and my hands feel clammy.
“You really think that?” I ask breathlessly.
“I don’t think, I know,” he says so confidently.
This is it. This is where we either stay on the dead-end course we’re on or we make a new path. Somehow I know it’s me who has to make a step forward in this moment.
For a split second, fear slithers through my veins, but I quickly push it to the side. This is Max. I have nothing to be scared of. I just have to be bold.
Shutting my eyes, I take a deep breath. I can do this.
I open my eyes and lick my bottom lip. His eyes darken as he watches me do it.
Yes, this is it.
“Well, the night doesn’t have to be over yet,” I say, letting the words hang between us, waiting to see what he does.
MAX
“Well, the night doesn’t have to be over yet.”
Her eyes are wide and hopeful as her words hang between us.
This is it. This is my one shot, and I can’t mess it up.
“You’re right,” I rasp as I take a step back.
I hate the way her face falls, but I know it will all change as soon as she realizes what I’m doing. Pulling out my phone, I find the playlist I’m looking for and hit play after broadcasting it to her speakers. Her breath catches as I hold out my hand to her as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts to play.
Iris slowly lifts her dress and kicks off her heels before placing her hand in mine. I pull her body into mine and start to sway. Slowly, my thumb draws circles on her lower back, making her lean into my touch.
I’ve known Iris for over a decade. I thought I knew everything about her, but I’m slowly realizing I don’t. For example, I never knew until recently that she loved to be touched. Anytime my hands are on her, even in the most simple way, she leans into my touch. If I didn’t know better, I would think she was touch starved.
Silently I make a promise to myself that I’ll always touch her every chance I get. I’ll gladly fill this cup of hers.
Song after song, we continue to dance around her kitchen, holding each other tight.
“Where did you find this playlist? It has all of my favorite songs. I don’t even remember the last time I heard this one,” she asks quietly as “Better Together” by Jack Johnson plays.
I take a deep breath and confess, “I actually made it.”
She pulls back slightly and looks up at me. “You did?”
“Yeah.” I shrug.
