“I figured.”
When I kiss her this time, it isn’t as careful as the way it was earlier. It isn’t tentative the way it was the first time we kissed at all. It’s something slower and deeper and steadier, like neither of us is pretending anymore that this is casual or temporary or something that might disappear if we don’t look at it too closely.
Her hand slides up my shoulder and into my hair in a way that makes me laugh softly against her mouth before pulling her closer, because apparently, restraint stopped being part of the plan the moment she said she liked me out loud.
“You’re trouble,” she whispers.
“I’ve been telling you that.”
“You’re worse than I thought.”
She smiles against my cheek before kissing me again, slower this time, like she’s not in a hurry to end the moment any more than I am.
“So,” I say quietly.
“So,” she echoes.
“Fourth date?”
She smiles.
“Yes.”
Chapter 18
Lisa
“So things have been going well?” Anna asks over the phone, and though she can’t see me, I nod.
“They have,” I reply. “How are things with you and Jason?”
Anna told me about him a couple of weeks ago, and they have been dating since.
“Really great,” she sighs. “I’m not bringing him to Chicago yet when I visit, but he is getting close,” she laughs.
“Whoa, big words,” I tease her.
“I have to go, meeting some friends at a pub, but I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?” Anna asks.
“Sounds good. Have fun,” I smile before we hang up.
I place my phone on the kitchen counter, and it immediately buzzes. Blake texting me on a random Monday night should not feel like something important is happening. Somehow, the moment my phone lights up with his name while I am standing barefoot in Zane’s kitchen pretending I am reorganizing drawers that were already perfectly organized two days ago, I feel that quiet, immediate warmth spread through my chest before I even open the message. It’s like my body recognizes him before my brain has time to catch up.
BLAKE:Drinks?
There is something about the simplicity of the message that makes me smile right away. Blake never turns invitations into performances, expectations, or plans that feel heavier than they need to be. He just asks as he trusts I’ll understand what he means underneath the word.
ME:That depends.
The typing bubble appears almost instantly.
BLAKE: On?
ME:Whether this is a date.
The pause that follows is long enough that I can picture him reading the message with that small sideways smile he gets when he’s pretending not to be pleased with himself.
BLAKE:Always.
