He frowns down at me. He’s only three inches taller, but I swear he stretches it out to six when he feels like it. He looks like a very handsome, very judgy owl.
“Kiss me,” I say. “I’ve always wanted to kiss someone with glasses.”
“Bunce was right there . . .”
“You look like a steampunk vampire.”
“That’s absurd—”
I kiss him. It is absurd. I can’t even see the glasses like this. I pull away just enough that I can.
Baz cocks an eyebrow above the frames. “I don’t think this is what Lady Salisbury had in mind when she lent us her heirloom reading glasses.”
“I don’t think she’d mind. She seems like she likes a good time.”
“Really. You think she’s up to party.”
“You know what I mean . . .” I kiss him again quickly. “I’ve never kissed you in the library. Think of all the places we could have kissed if we’d figured this out sooner.”
He looks up at my forehead, threading one hand into my hair. His grey eyes are enormous. “Ifyou’dfigured it out sooner . . .”
I could argue with him, tease him, return his serve. But I don’t want to. I push him back against a bookshelf and kiss him some more. My hands are on his waist. I can feel his skin, cool through his cotton shirt.
Baz is wearing another long-sleeved button-down. (I don’t think the heat ever bothers him, even when the sun does.) This one’s got brown and blue stripes, but when you get close, you see that the blue stripes are flowers. His trousers are nice, too—inky blue. He said he dressed up for Lady Ruth, but I think he just likes to dress up. I think he likes to look like he’s going somewhere important.
I push my chest against his. The shelf behind him creaks.
How much kissing would there have been? If I’d figured it out sooner? In the library, on the Great Lawn. In our room . . .
Christ. Baz in our room, his hair slicked back, his tie perfectly knotted—hating me. (But not really hating me. Not only hating me.)
He puts his other hand in my hair, too, like he’s trying to hold me steady. Every time I push my face forward, the back of his head knocks books off the shelf behind him.
How many walls could I have shoved him up against? How many empty corners could we have found?
This was our place. Watford. Ours like no one else’s. Maybe that sounds arrogant, but it’s true. His, because his mother died here. Mine, because it was mine to protect.
His mouth opens for me . . .
(I don’t understand what this is. Why people do it. Why we stoke fires in each other. What are we burning?)
The shelf creaks again. I rub my cock into his hip.
How many walls? How many hallways?
What else would I have figured out, if I’d got to this sooner?
Baz turns his face away and unhooks Lady Ruth’s glasses from his ears.
“I’m sorry,” I pant.
He looks confused. The spring on one side is caught in his hair. “For what?”
I shrug. I don’t know. I hug him closer. My arms are crossed in the small of his back. “Breaking your nose. In fourth year.”
He laughs. “Oh. Well. Youshouldbe sorry about that.”
I lean forward and bite his nose, right at the crooked part.
