I lift our joined hands and press a kiss to her knuckles, my eyes never leaving hers. “If this were real, I’d do things like that. Small gestures that say you’re mine.”
Her pupils are dark now, nearly swallowing the brown of her eyes. “And the actual kissing part?”
This is where I should stop. Where I should laugh it off and sit back down and tell April that we’re getting carried away. That we probably shouldn’t go further.
Instead, I step even closer.
“If this were real,” I say quietly, my free hand coming up to cup her face, “I wouldn’t kiss you like I did for the kiss cam. Quick and appropriate and over before it started.”
“No?” Her lips part.
“No.” My thumb brushes across her cheekbone. “I’d take my time. Make sure you felt it.”
“Clark—” Her eyes search mine.
“If this were real, April ...” I lean in slowly, giving her every opportunity to stop me. “I’d kiss you like—” I’ve wanted to for ten years.
Before I finish the sentence, my lips find hers.
It is nothing like the kiss cam.
I kiss her slowly, thoroughly, like I’m trying to memorize every inch of her lips. My hand slides into her hair, angling her head just right, and when she returns the kiss, every coherent thought I have scatters like leaves in a windstorm.
Her hands find my arms and she closes the space between us. I’m drowning. I’m flying. I’m completely and utterly lost in the feel of her mouth against mine, soft and sweet and perfect.
In my daydreams, there are no consequences to this.
No risk of ruining our friendship.
No fear of losing her if this goes wrong.
In my daydreams, I can kiss April Hansen and keep her forever.
Reality crashes back when we both need to breathe. I pull away slowly, reluctantly, my forehead inclined toward hers while we both try to remember to inhale and exhale.
“That,” I manage, my voice wrecked, “is what it would look like if this were real.”
April’s eyes are still closed, her fingers gripping my shirt. “Oh.”
“Too much?”
“No. I mean—” She finally opens her eyes, and what I see there makes my heart stop. “That was very ... instructive. I can see why hockey players practice so much.”
“Practice. Right.” I force myself to step back, to put space between us before I do something really stupid like kiss her again. “So now we know what to expect, what to do. For the cameras.”
“For the cameras,” she echoes, sounding dazed.
We stand there for a long moment, both breathing too hard, both pretending that didn’t just fundamentally change everything.
Then Buster waddles over and sits on my foot, breaking the tension as he barks once, which April and I both know means he would like his nightly treat. Yes, the very good boy is spoiled and right now, after that kiss, I feel the same. But now what?
12
CLARK
I scratchmy dog’s head and give him a biscuit.
“So …” April says, her voice slightly unsteady as she tucks her hair behind her ear—the same unruly curl I just touched as we practiced kissing. “Maybe we should establish rules?”
