"I shouldn't," I manage between his mouth and mine. "Theo—" He swallows my voice. "Theo," I whimper.
Something slides down my cheek.
He pulls back, noticing it.
He looks at the tear without looking afraid of it. Just looks at it, then at my eyes, and then he leans in and licks it from my cheek. I make a completely involuntary sound and grip his jacket tighter.
"We shouldn't," I huff.
His hand is still at my throat. I can feel my own pulse against his palm. "We should," he says.
He pulls me back in and kisses me until my lips hurt, and my thoughts are completely gone, and I am nothing but at his will.
I pull back. "I need Chapstick. My lips are…"
He looks at my mouth. "They're bright red."
I flip the mirror down and look. They are. Swollen and red and unmistakably kissed, and I look away from my own reflection because looking at it means acknowledging what I just did.
"I've never seen them this red before," I admit, digging for the Chapstick out of my bag. I apply it, feeling the immediate cooling relief. Then I glide my lip gloss over it.
"Give me your number, Adela."
I shake my head.
His hand finds my face. Gently this time, just his fingers against my jaw as he stares into my eyes. "What's your number?"
I shake my head again and say, "I'll meet you at Barnes and Noble. Across the city, when they open."
"Saturday?" I say.
I shake my head. "Sunday."
I search his face. The thing in his eyes that I have never been able to fully read and have been trying to read since the first afternoon. "Okay," he says.
I lean back in my seat. My lips still hurt. My cheek where his tongue was is still warm. "Why did you kiss me?"
"So that I could ask you how it was."
I stare out the window, thinking about my answer, and another tear slides. "It was good, Theo."
"Just good?" He looks at the tear. "Is that why you're crying?"
"It was really good." I nod, trying to hide my face. "Amazing. Not like I imagined."
"You imagined it?"
The heat hits my face immediately. "Yes."
He's quiet for a moment. "So it's better than you imagined and you're crying because—"
"Because I have a boyfriend."
"Do you?" he asks, surprised.
I wince at his tone. "It's complicated."
He reaches for the door handle.
