“A method?” Jonah quirks a brow at me, and leans back against the hallway wall.
“Yes. I act real nice to them, giving them a smile just like this.” I smile at him, all sweet and innocent. “I give them the time of day for a few moments, make them think I actually like them. It strokes their ego and softens ‘em up. And then I tell them that I’d love to keep chatting but my boyfriend is waiting for me. Or father. Either works. That’s my method. What’s yours?”
Jonah levels me with a glare that turns his eyes cold and nearly cruel, and then crosses his arms. His muscles bulge around the edge of his t-shirt sleeves, and his tattoos give him a distinct edge. “This,” he says simply.
“I’ll have to try that one some time.” I try and give him my best badass, don’t-fuck-with-me glare back, but I can tell it’s not working. His mouth hitches up at the sides, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Don’t laugh! I could kill someone with this stare,” I joke. I try even harder, furrowing my brow.
“You look like one of those dogs with the squished in faces.”
“I do not!” I cover my face with my hands, suddenly worried that I look…well, ugly. I’ve spent years smiling on stage and angling my face just so for photographs. My mom even insisted I spoke in a certain way when we filmed video content or ads for my social media pages. One time, I was doing a get ready with me video and she had me redo it six times because I kept puffing my cheeks out weirdly when I talked. Looking less than perfect has historically left me wide open to hurt and humiliation. I don’t want Jonah to see me like this.
Gentle, calloused hands cup over mine, and then Jonah is tugging my hands away from my face. “Hey,” he says. “Pugs are really cute. I love their squished in faces.”
Somehow, it’s the perfect thing to say. My embarrassment drains out of me, and I feel silly for even worrying.
“Thanks,” I say, gazing up at him. This is the second time in two days that we’ve been this close. First there was yesterday in the kitchen, when he gently wiped my face with the kitchen towel. And now this. “This is good practice,” I blurt out. “For tomorrow, I mean.”
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
For the first time, I notice that Jonah’s eyes are a mossy green-brown, shot through with flecks of yellow. They remind me of the colors of the woods when the leaves are just starting to turn in the fall.
“We’ll probably have to kiss,” Jonah says.
“What? Why?” I ask, reeling back a bit. But his grip on my hands stays gentle but firm, anchoring me.
“Because it’s a wedding. And we’re trying to keep things from looking too suspicious. For your parents, but honestly, it would help me out as well if this thing looked real. My parents are going to be confused as to why I got married without telling them, and they’re going to be even more shocked when they find out I paid off the hospital bill.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, suddenly feeling guilt gnawing through me. “I roped you into this without thinking about how it might impact your relationship with your family.”
“Hey, I agreed of my own free will.”
“Well, I’m happy to kiss you if that will make things seem more real. But won’t the court house be pretty private?”
Jonah shakes his head. “The courthouse serves a few of the small towns around here, and everyone knows everyone, or knows someone who knows you. Hell, I’m pretty sure the judge knows my dad. Even if we went super early, we can’t guarantee that no one will be around.”
“Right. Small towns and all that.” I don’t mention the P.I. I’m pretty sure my parents have hired, but I’m willing to betthat they’ll follow us there. “Maybe we should practice, then,” I continue. “Kissing, I mean. So we look believable.”
17
JONAH
Kissing Winnie is dangerous.This is something I know to be true. She’s too beautiful, and too tempting, and if I kiss her, I worry that I won’t want to stop. I’m better off single—the past has proven that to me. Still, none of this reasoning seems to matter, because my body has a mind of its own, and I already feel myself leaning in closer to her.
After all, what’s one kiss? I’m overthinking things, looking at it from every angle and assessing the potential risks like I always do. But maybe this isn’t the time to be level headed.
“A practice kiss,” I mutter. “Why the hell not?”
I lean in further and she stands up a bit taller, our faces mere breaths away from one another. My lips fall against hers, and she meets me, softly pressing that pink mouth against mine. At first, neither of us moves, and for a brief moment I thinkthis is it. Just a peck on the lips. Nothing more.
And then I feel Winnie’s hand release mine and tentatively pull on the edge of my shirt. It’s like something unlocks inside of me at feeling her try to bring me closer, and I haul her against me, relishing the softness of her body against mine. I part her lips with mine and the taste of her floods my mouth—perfection and promise and hope.
She lets me in, sighing against my mouth and opening for me entirely. I probe her mouth with my tongue, and she answers by exploring right back, and sinking deeper into the kiss. My hands roam lower across her back, settling right above her ass, and Winnie lets out a small whine and presses herself against me, seeking more.
I give it to her, walking her back against the hallway wall, and ravaging her mouth. She hitches one leg up and hooks it around me, and then my hips are nestled against hers, our mouths still locked, our lips still melding together.
In the back of my mind, I’m aware that no kiss has ever been like this for me before. No kiss has ever consumed me like this, or kindled me into such a blaze. No kiss has ever made me this hungry—for her taste, her scent, her mouth. I feel her core pressing against me, and her mouth dragging across mine, and her hands tangling in my hair.
It’s everything a first kiss should be.
