It doesn’t work.
It never does.
“Matt,” she whispers, softer now. “Why do you care so much?”
“Because—” I start, but the words choke off. Because I do. Because I can’t stop. Because this fake thing hasn’t felt fake in weeks. Even if it’s mostly been texting and video calling, the conversations have felt real. Hell, Ifelt something the first time I saved her from being humiliated by Brooks.
She tilts her head, and that’s all it takes.
One beat, then another, and our mouths collide.
The kiss is sudden—frantic, messy, real. Her hands clutch my shirt, mine cup her jaw, and for a second, everything stops spinning.
There’s no noise, no Brooks, no rules. Just her.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. She looks up at me, lips swollen, eyes wide and glassy. “You done being mad at me?”
I huff out a laugh that sounds half-broken. “Not a chance.”
“Good,” she says, her voice trembling, “because I’m not done with you either.”
FIFTEEN
NOELLE
Once. I had sex once with Brooks.
But the kiss Matt just gave me surpasses the sex with Brooks by a mile. Whatever just happened with Matt feels like a completely different sport. Like I’ve been playing backyard catch my whole life and suddenly someone dropped me into the Super Bowl under the lights.
My lips tingle. My lungs forget how to pump air. I’m still standing in the hotel room, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, when I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
“Breathe, Butterfly,” Matt rasps, his forehead resting against mine. His chest moves hard against my hands, so at least I’m not the only one sucking air like I just ran suicide drills in the gym.
“I am,” I whisper. “I think.”
His eyes search mine, soft yet regretful. My heart plummets because I know that look. I’ve seen it on Brooks after every apology, every“it won’thappen again,”every time he decided I was too much or not enough.
But Matt doesn’t look disgusted. He looks… wrecked. And like he’s choosing his words cautiously.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says hoarsely.
My stomach drops. “Oh.”
He squeezes his eyes shut like the words hurt him too. “That’s not what I mean.” His hands slide down to my shoulders, thumbs brushing my collarbones like he’s memorizing the shape there. “I mean I shouldn’t have lost my temper first. I didn’t want the first time I really kissed you to be because I was jealous and acting like a Neanderthal.”
First time. Really kissed you.
My brain zeroes in on those words like a reader annotates a book.
“So, you’ve been planning onreallykissing me?” I ask, voice shaky but trying so hard to be my usual snarky self. “Are you ahead of or behind in your kiss schedule?”
His mouth curves, barely. “Smartass.”
He starts to step back, but everything in me goes tight. I tighten my hold on his shirt so he can’t go anywhere without me. “Don’t,” I say, more desperate than I want to sound. “Please don’t pull away and pretend this didn’t just happen.”
His gaze snaps back to mine. Something fierce flashes there. “You think I could pretend that kiss didn’t happen?” he asks, low. “You think I haven’t been tryingnotto imagine it for months?”
Oh.
