So why are my hands shaking?
Derek stood at the kitchen table and moved closer. Close enough that I could smell his cologne. Something woody and expensive that made my head spin. He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He looked casual, but there was nothing causal in the way he was gazing at me.
I’m about to kiss my boss and my best-friend to practice for our public date.
“Ready?” he asked, his blue eyes gleaming.
No. Absolutely not.
“Sure.”
He leaned in, and I froze like a deer in headlights. His lips brushed mine. It felt soft at first, but then he pulled back.
Silence hung in the surrounding air. It felt awkward, as if it was a middle school first kiss and my face burned with embarrassment.
“Sorry,” I whispered, looking anywhere but at him. “I’m just… I don’t know why I’m so?—”
“Hey,” he said, his finger tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “It’s okay to be nervous. This is weird. I get it. We don’t have to do it.”
“It’s not weird,” I lied. I want to kiss you. “It’s fine. Let’s try again.”
I leaned in this time, determined to get it right, but our noses bumped.
“Oh, my God,” I gasped and pulled back with a mortified laugh. “I’m terrible at this.”
“You’re not terrible,” Derek said, a smile tugged at his lips, and that devastating smile made my stomach flip. He’s not allowed to be look this handsome. “You’re just overthinking it.”
“I overthink everything. It’s kind of my specialty.”
“I know.” His hand came up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “But you don’t have to overthink this. It’s just me, Paige.”
Just him. Just Derek, who had known me since we were kids. He has seen me with braces and bad perms and during that unfortunate goth phase in tenth grade. He held my hand when I went through labor and somehow looked at me like I was beautiful even when I felt like a wreck.
“Just you,” I whispered, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Just me,” he replied, his voice dropping into a lower octave. “Forget about the contract. Stop thinking about getting it right and just... feel.”
His other hand slid around my waist, pulling me closer, and suddenly the air between us felt charged. I tried not to think about how chiseled and firm his body felt pressed against mine. His eyes dropped to my mouth, and I watched his pupils dilate.
“You know,” he whispered. “I’ve always thought you had the most beautiful lips.”
What?
My breath hitched in my throat. “Derek, what do you?—”
“Soft and perfect with this… pouty cupid’s bow,” he said, his thumb tracing my lower lip and making me shiver. “I used to wonder what they’d taste like.”
“You did?” I asked, my words breathy and barely audible.
“Constantly,” he said, leaning in slowly and giving me time to pull away. “Want to know what I think now?”
I couldn’t speak. I could barely breathe. So, I just nodded.
“I think,” he whispered against my lips. “They’d taste even better than I imagined.”
Then he kissed me.
Really kissed me. Not the awkward practice attempt from before, but a proper kiss that made my knees go weak. His mouth moved against mine with confident strokes, coaxing my lips apart, and when his tongue swept against mine, I made a sound I had never heard myself make before.
