“The best kind,” he says, opening his eyes and looking around us. His smile is effervescent. I want to reach out and touch it, to make sure it’s real. “The kind that makes me grateful to be alive, right here, right now, on this spectacular planet.”
He’s near enough that when he turns to face me, his hand brushes mine. It’s the most innocent of touches, but my heart thumps wildly. Then George sets his eyes on me, and I know.
It’s not the rose petals or the rainforest. It’s him. My wondrous best friend.
George.
“But most of all,” he says, “I feel lucky to be here with you.”
I stare into his eyes—they’re as deep and blue as the ocean, and for a moment, I get lost in them. George stops talking, and I know it’s because of the way my breath is sawing out of me.
“Frankie?”
George isn’t smiling anymore. He’s watching me, his gaze darting across my face. I think he’s figuring it out. Then he blinks, giving his head the smallest shake, like maybe he’s wrong.
I take a step closer. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I once made you a promise, but I can’t keep it.”
George’s eyes land on mine as understanding crashes over him.
“I promised I wouldn’t kiss you.”
I reach for the collar of his jacket, taking it in my shaking hands. I stare at his mouth, rising on my toes, giving him an opportunity to pull back. When I lift my eyes to his, the longing I find in them steals my breath.
“You did,” he says, his voice rough. He looks down at me, a tempest in his eyes. “But I never promised you the same thing.”
And then, as quick as a lightning strike, George’s lips are on mine, devouring my gasp. It’s not a hesitant kiss—it’s demanding, needy. He opens his mouth with the first sweep of my tongue across his bottom lip, and when I get my first real taste of him, I moan. George growls in response, and his hands find mine, looping them around his neck. Then he sets his palms on my hips to urge me closer. Every lash of our tongues feels like an argument, a fight I’m surely losing. His teeth nip at my mouth, and I bite back, sharper. We laugh, but we don’t stop. The rain falls harder, and I can taste it on his lips.
I’m bombarded with memories of George—all the times when I’ve fought my attraction to him.
Our fourteenth birthday party, when he stood on the edge of the diving board. The night he climbed through my bedroom window and looked at me in a way he never had before. Themorning in our apartment after we got our tattoos. The night I heard him having sex. And this week. I’ve been fighting it almost every moment we’ve shared since we arrived.
The kiss is like opening a secret compartment in my soul—it’s more intense than anything I’ve experienced. It feels like our lives are at stake.
“Frankie.” George groans out my name, and it hurtles me back to reality.
Our lives may not be on the line, but our friendship is. What the hell are we thinking? George must sense it at the same time I do. When I pause, he takes a full step back. We watch each other, breathing heavily.
“That was…” I shake my head in disbelief.Incredible.Stupid.So fucking hot.A very bad idea.
“I know,” George says.
“We’ve never done that before.”
“Once,” George says. “We’ve done that once.”
“Not like that.”
He stares at my mouth. “No, not like that.”
“It was…”
George’s eyebrows lift.
“Volcanic,” I say. It felt like we were meant to be kissing all along. George really knows how to use his mouth. “Do you always kiss like that?”
He shakes his head. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“But it was a mistake, wasn’t it?” I ask, thinking out loud. “The last thing I want is to damage our relationship.”
