The next kiss is slower. Deeper. Like neither of us is in a hurry anymore.
I don’t think I ever want to leave this car.
After a while, I slide back to my passenger seat, fighting with the console and almost face-planting into the passenger window. He grabs his hoodie from the backseat and gives it to me since I’m still only in my dress, and I wrap myself into his scent.
I’m definitely not giving this back.
We end up talking about random stuff and I relax myself, putting my feet up on the dashboard, but it’s too cold so I tuck them back to my seat.
“Are you cold?” he asks when he sees that.
“Not really, it’s fine.”
He doesn’t buy it, he reaches out and grabs both of my feet, placing them in his lap and warming them with his hands. I fight a little but he keeps holding them, then I cover my face with my palm as he takes them and shoves them under his T-shirt to warm them up.
It feels like he’s always finding a way to touch me.
I like it.
Eventually, I feel so warm that my eyes start to flutter shut. But I don’t want to leave him yet. We’ve been here for hours and it’s almost four in the morning. This guy is not letting me sleep ever.
Not that I’m complaining.
“I need to go, my shift at the hotel starts in six hours.”
“What? Why didn’t you say something?” His eyes snap open like I just told him I’m moving to another continent.
“I didn’t want this to end.” My voice is barely audible.
Did I really just say that out loud?
I want to swallow the words back immediately, but he just stares at me like I hung the stars myself.
“I’ll be here at nine thirty.”
“What? No,” I blurt out. “I’m taking an Uber.”
No. He’s not seeing me half-dead, mascara-smudged, smelling like jello shots and poor life choices.
“Definitely not,” he states firmly.
Of course he says it like it’s final. Ugh. Why is that hot?
“I don’t want you to see me with a hangover and no sleep. This is non-negotiable.” I try to sound firm.
“I won’t look then, I promise.”
He’s smiling. He’s actually smiling like this is cute. I grab my shoes and get out of the car.
“No!” I yell.
He’s laughing under his breath as I shut the door on him.
God, that laugh.
I head toward my house, trying not to trip on the walkway because that would be humiliating and exactly the kind of thing I would do after the best night of my life.
Once inside, I set my alarm for eight a.m., my thumb shaking slightly—either from exhaustion or from the fact that he said he’ll be here. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world to pick me up after I’ve had five hours of sleep and a mild existential crisis.
