“How do you know they’re all bad?”
“Because I know him.”
“Maybe he isn’t what he seems.”
“Or it could be that he just judges himself as harshly as possible.”
There was a long silence, after that. A pointed silence, full of meaningful eye contact.
Yes, I’m talking about you,she thought at him, and he seemed to get it.
But man, he still didn’t like it. She had to change the subject just to stop him from moodily staring out of the window.1
“Your turn,” she said. “Favorite movie.”
“I would probably have to sayThe Fly.”
“Really? And here I thought you liked a happy ending.”
“Yeah, well. Happy endings aren’t always possible for gross, nightmarish monsters.”
He didn’t look at her as he said it—he was busy accepting his coffee from the mean lipped waitress. But she got his meaning anyway.
And knew just how to throw it back at him.
“True. But hey, at least the monster gets to bang Geena Davis for like ninety percent of the movie,before he meets his terrible and disgusting end.”
“I do not remember it being ninety percent of the movie.”
“So sixty percent, then. Maybe sixty-five.”
“Sixty-five still seems way to high.”
“Will you at least give me forty?”
“Forty is possible,” he said, as he sipped from his surprisingly good smelling coffee from his surprisingly clean looking mug.
Though really, it was his smile she paid attention to.
Just a little hint of one—rueful, but a delight all the same.
And definitely evidence that they could do this. They could date like this, as slow and steady as he wanted, and it would be fine. She was certain it would be fine.
Until they got to her apartment door and he saidso what happens at the end of a first date,and she answered with a laugh.A kiss, she said, without thinking for one second that he really would. And then just as she turned to put her key in the lock, he caught her hand. Casually, like it was nothing. Like it was no big deal. Even the words he said were almost offhand.Wait a minute now, he said. As if she’d left her jacket in his arms or forgotten to tell him something.
Only it was neither of those things.
It was his hands on her face suddenly, warm and strong and sure. It was him leaning down, slow enough that she had time to nearly lose it. Her heart started actually pounding. Somehow, she was trembling all over, in a way she hadn’t since teenage dates with guys way out of her league. And then his lips touched hers, and oh god, it was just beyond anything she could have imagined.
Somewhere in the back of her head, she had thought he would be awkward about it. That he would find kissing too intimate, and shy away in a million tiny ways. Maybe his mouth stayed closed; perhaps he didn’t like to press too hard or too deeply. At the very least, she was sure it would feel somewhat robotic—like someone who had learnt the notes well, but struggled with the passion part.
But it didn’t. Dear god it didn’t at all.
He kissed heras if savoring every second of it—so soft and sweet it was nearly unbearable.Though it was the rhythmof the thing that really nailed her to the wall. The way he pressed in deep and then almost pulled away, before rolling that hot mouth back against hers.Sinuously, she thought, and that seemed right. He kissed in waves, in long slow waves that made her knees want to buckle.
And then she got just the barest flicker of his tongue, and they almost did.
She had to get hold of him just to stay on her feet.Her hands went to his shoulders—but of course his shoulders only made everything more intense. He was so solid, so real suddenly. And he was still kissing her, in that incredibly sensuous and way too arousing way. In fact, if anything he was doing it more deeply. His hand had gone to the back of her head, and everything was so hot and wet suddenly, and oh fuck, those maddening licks were getting longer and slicker and soooo good.
