Her cheeks take on a rosy hue and she surprises me even more by leaning forward and pressing her lips to mine. I know she intends to leave it as that, but my hand has a mind of its own and I cup her cheek and hold her to me. Prolonging our connection, Angie sighs into the kiss and leans into me. Her tongue licks at my bottom lip and my lips part. Her whimper mixed with a moan is almost my undoing, but I have enough common sense to slow this down.
My other hand comes up to cradle her face and I break the kiss. Angie’s eyes are still closed, so I take the moment to look at the light smattering of freckles that paint her nose and cheeks, the light sheen on her lips from our kiss. I place a kiss to the tip of her nose and her eyes slowly open, still half-mast, and I watch them survey every inch of my face unabashedly.
“I like your eyes,” she whispers after a few seconds of us just staring at one another.
“Thank you. I like yours too.”
“I like your nose,” she says when her gaze travelsdownward and I smile when one takes over her face, “and your mouth. I really like your mouth.”
I drop my forehead against hers and groan. “Angela.”
“Brandon,” she chastises with a raise of her eyebrows and disappears from my hold, taking our cleared plates with her to the kitchen.
I cover my face with my hands and smile. She still manages to surprise me and I don’t think that will ever stop.
“B, where’s your bathroom?” she asks when she comes back to the dining room.
I turn and see Angie standing at the threshold with her bag in her hands, but I’m still focused on the nickname she gave me. Clearing my throat, I stand up from my chair and walk toward her.
“Yeah, I’ll show you.” My voice comes out thick and I hope she doesn’t notice. However, the confusion on her face proves I’m not masking my emotions as well as I thought I was.
“Hey,” she stops my forward motion with a light hand on my arm, “are you okay?”
I nod, attempting to brush it off, but the look she gives me wants to confess. So I do. “That nickname, B, is what James would call me.”
Realization dawns on her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t even—I won’t call you that again.”
“Please don’t stop,” I urge and back her up against the wall that’s adjacent to the living room. “You just caught me off guard.”
“Clearly,” Angie deadpans and pushes my hair back off my forehead. She does that a lot and I find I like it—and now need less convincing to put less pomade in my hair for that reason alone. I like her touch and it’s not even something that could lead to more. It’s comfort. She is comfort.
“We should talk about last night,” I break the happy bubble.
The hand that was in my hair travels down my neck, to my chest, and lands on my waist. “Do we have to?”
“Yes. Last night was a one-way ticket to ensure that I get addicted to you.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” she asks, looking up at me.
“No,” I say, leaning forward and kissing her on the tip of her nose. Her cheeks get rosy every time I do that and I vow to keep doing it for as long as she’ll let me. “But if we see this as more than a short-term thing, then we’ll need to do more than have sex.”
“You’re sexy when you’re responsible.”
I drop my head to her shoulder and laugh. When I pull back, her eyes are full of laughter. They’re light. I don’t see any of the burdens weighing her down at this moment like I did months ago. As we stand in the hallway, the early afternoon sunlight pours in through the living room and the light reflects off the hardwood floors making the blue in Angie’s eyes turn almost iridescent. I can’t look away. Again, I want to take a snapshot of her eyes and frame them—preferably in my bedroom, but my office will do as well. Maybe even my phone's wallpaper. The air in the hallway changes and we both sense it. The mood is thick with the kind of tension that makes your teeth hurt and I start to lean in to close the distance, but a car honking on the street infiltrates our moment. I place another kiss on the tip of her nose, stepping back to show her where one of the bathrooms is, which happens to be in my bedroom.
“Here you go,” I tell her and turn on the light. “Our tee time is at four and it’s about a forty-five minute drive.”
“Okay. I won’t be long.”
When the door shuts, I head into my closet to find mygolf shorts and shirt. I haven’t been golfing in longer than I care to admit and knowing I get to share this with her, has me just barely containing my excitement. Luckily, I prepared ahead and already put my golf clubs in my car. When I’m dressed, I shut the light off in the closet and step back into my room at the same time Angie comes out of the bathroom and her light giggle is like music to my ears.
“We match,” she says and sets her bag at the foot of my bed. “Cute.”
I scoff and bite on the inside of my cheek to stop my smile. “Golf attire is not cute, Angie.”
She covers the distance between us, placing her hands on my black polyester-clad chest and moving them up to the collar of my shirt. “Boys wouldn’t know cute if it hit them in the face.”
I snort and snake my arm around her waist and pull her flush to me. “We do.”
