His gaze darts away. “Like you wanna kiss me.”
Five words have never made me feel more transparent in my entire life. But the strange part is the way they also seem to embolden me. It’s the only explanation for the words that leave my mouth next.
“Would it be such a bad thing if I do?”
I meant it when I told him I’d never initiate when it comes to any kind of physical affection without his permission—and apart from bear-hugging him after passing that stupid philosophy class, I’ve kept my promise. Out of respect for him, of course, but I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t also a little bit out of fear too. Fear of pushing past his boundaries, of challenging the status quo,only to be rejected.
Of finally admitting, with every passing day of this fake relationship, he’s become nearly impossible to resist.
Logan’s eyes find mine again, tracing over my face while his brows knit together. I’m not sure if it’s confusion, annoyance, or something else he’s feeling, but regardless, it’s not the expression of someone open to the idea. Rejection isn’t something I’m well versed in myself, but I know that much.
Fuck.
I feel my face twist into some mixture of a smile and grimace, and I shake my head. “Look, I’m sorry. If that’s—”
The explanation dies on my lips the second Logan’s mouth seals over them, effectively shutting me up. His sudden onslaught leaves him a little off-balance, but I quickly rectify that by wrapping one arm around his lower back and hauling him against me. The other slides up to cup his jaw in my palm, the tips of my fingers teasing the beanie on his head.
And then I kiss him like my life depends on it.
I devour him in every sense of the word, because I refuse to believe this kiss is anything like the others that came before. Even at the banquet, it was different. There was a reason for it. But right now, there are no reporters or friends or family members watching, waiting, assessing us.
Right now, the only possible reason is because he wants it just as much as I do.
Emboldened further by this realization, my tongue teases along the seam of his lips, seeking entrance. He readily gives permission, parting and allowing me to dip inside to find his own. A rush of heat slams into my stomach the moment they make contact, igniting an inferno inside me I have little control over.
His fingers tighten around my biceps, clutching my jacket as I kiss him the way I’ve wanted to the past couple weeks. And hekisses me back.God,does he kiss me back, taking as much as he gives. Consuming all the gratitude and desire I feel for him as it pours from my body into his—and giving me his in return.
And I never want it to end.
It’s only when someone lets out a wolf whistle that he pulls back, breaking the kiss. I wish he wouldn’t. I’d take no issue with making out with him in this spot for hours, public display be damned.
Logan’s hazelnut irises are glassy, overcome with that post-kiss haze, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier. It makes me want to do it again. Makes me want to kiss him breathless right here and now. I settle for running my thumb over the flush in his cheeks instead, watching his soft little breaths cloud the miniscule amount of space between us.
We stay like that for I don’t know long, staring at each other, breathing each other’s air, and with every passing second, I wish I knew what he was thinking. Wish I could worm my way into his mind like an alien probe and dissect every one of his thoughts as he looks at me.
“We should probably get going,” he says eventually, shifting his gaze away as he speaks. “Our reservation time has to be close to over, and I’m sure my parents will be looking for us soon.”
A little laugh leaves me as my tongue skims over my bottom lip. It’s still a little wet from where his were just pressed against it, and that just depresses the hell out of me. Because I don’t need to wish I knew what he was thinking after all.
From the way he just shut down after that kiss, it’s obvious he regrets it.
Seventeen
Logan
I fucked up.
I should’ve seen this coming from a mile away, especially with how things have been between Camden and me the past couple of weeks. The tension has been growing thicker and more obvious by the day, to the point where it’d probably take a machete to cut through it.
And damn if I didn’t hack it to pieces by kissing him earlier.
If that’s not bad enough, the way I keep wanting to kiss him again definitely is. It’s all I can think about for the rest of the day, which is really inconvenient when we rejoin my family for the game that evening.
Every minute I spend beside him—his thigh pressed to mine or his soft breath brushing along my neck and jaw when he talks to me—sets all my nerve endings on fire. Meanwhile, he seems completely unaware of the effect he’s having on me, still laughing and joking with my dad or sitting through my mother’s polite interrogations while my circuits short out.
It’s a wonder how I have a working brain by the time we make it back to my brother’s apartment, my nervous system is so fried.
“Well, I think us old folks are turning in for the night,” Dadmuses while checking his watch. “Great game tonight, boys. We’ll see you in the morning.”
