She melts into me, pouring as much into the kiss as I am. Her palms reach around to the span of my back, gripping, kneading, pressing.
I get lost in the warmth of her mouth, the sound of her breathing, and the way she fits against me like we were custom-made for each other.
There’s no need to play the “Where does it belong?” game.
I’m where I’m meant to be.
Inhaling deeply, I draw in her lilac scent. My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer, and she rises up on hertoes to meet me. The kiss turns unhurried like we both just realized there is no deadline, no pressure.
I memorize every detail to replace the daydreams I’ve played on repeat for years. The soft give of her lips. The way she tastes faintly of vanilla. How her breathing turns shallow.
When we finally break apart—more for oxygen than because we want to—our grins are identical.
Her eyes are crescent-shaped with happiness, cheeks flushed, and I can feel the warm shivers running through her. Or maybe that’s me. It’s hard to tell where she ends and I begin.
“That was …” she starts, breathless.
“It was.” I agree, equally wrecked because there are no words.
And maybe that’s just it. We can’t say with our mouths how we feel just yet, but the kiss told me everything.
We’ve crossed friendship boundaries, but is this relationship territory? I want it to be. But the doubt that came at me like a high-sticking penalty plays air hockey in my head. But when I look at April—lips slightly swollen from my kiss, curls mussed from my hands, gaze soft and wondering—I can’t bring myself to care.
“I really like this,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.
Her smile widens, and there’s that dimple. “I really like this too.”
“Even though it might come with a few interruptions.”
“Yeah. I’ll get used to it.” She kisses me once more, quick and sweet. “See you soon?”
“Can’t wait.”
I watch her climb the stairs to her building, making sure she gets inside safely. But even as I drive away, I can’t shake the feeling that something is off. I tell myself it’s just the stress, but I can’t be sure. However, it’s something I need to figure out before it becomes a problem.
Morning skatebefore the game against Oklahoma isn’t so much a leisurely warm-up as it is a test to see how hard we can go. Coach Badaszek is in playoff mode, which means beast mode.
“Culpepper!” he barks. “You planning to let shots in like that during playoffs?”
“No, Coach!”
“Then tighten up that block!”
I do, making the next five saves in quick succession. When he finally blows the whistle for a water break, I’m drenched in sweat and gasping for air.
“So,” Mikey says, skating over with a grin. “You and April are officially together?”
Word travels fast with no thanks to my twin brothers and elderly aunt.
“Yeah.”
“Not fake anymore?”
I squint, wondering how to explain. “It was never really fake.”
“We know.” Pierre appears on my other side. “You were the only one who didn’t. But we want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
