He smirks. “Is this you not talking about it?”
I make a face, pick up my water bottle, and take a drink.
I don’t intend to voice all the things I’ve been thinking since that kiss happened. But I have had lots of thoughts. It’s different than it was for me in my twenties. There’s so much more at stake.I’m not interested in casual. I wasn’t evenlookingfor anything until Minnie signed me up with Matched.
Along with the typical swoopy, swoony feelings, there is also a certain amount of pragmatism. I just can’t afford to start over, pour out feelings just to get them stepped on again.
I know what’s at stake here.
“That was my first postdivorce kiss,” I say. “You are the first man I’ve kissed who isn’t John in over twenty years.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I have no idea what I’m doing in that area. Baking? Easy. Kissing? Romance? Who knows? Was it good? Did you enjoy it?” I feel my face heat as soon as those words are hanging in the air between us.
He cocks his head and smiles, looking like he’s holding back a laugh. I pull a face. “Wait. Why aren’t you saying anything?”
He chuckles. “I’m just enjoying this moment.”
“Wait,” I say. “Was it... okay?”
His eyes widen. “The kiss?”
“Yeah.”
“You want my opinion?”
Oof. Maybe I don’t. He’s probably kissedlotsof women.
He leans against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest. “I think I’d need to do it again to know for sure.”
I shoot him a look, then chuck a kitchen towel at his head. He catches it, his casual smile hanging loose on his lips.
I match his posture, leaning on the counter opposite him and crossing my arms over my chest. “So?”
He stares back. “So what?”
“Kissing feedback?” I prompt.
His eyes narrow. “For not wanting to talk about the kiss, you sure are bringing it up a lot.” His gaze falls to my lips, and my heart sputters. The assault on my senses intensifies as I remember every single second of that kiss. As I chew on my bottom lip,Miles’s focus zeroes in on the movement, and I have to wonder if he’s remembering it too.
“I just think it could be informative,” I say, eyes fixed on his.
“Informative,” he repeats, taking a step closer.
“Educational,” I say, still holding his gaze.
“Oh, educational, for sure.” Another step coupled with the slight rise of his eyebrows.
“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” I ask, exasperated.
He’s standing mere inches away from me now, and there’s nowhere else for me to go.
“Maybe.”
I lift my chin and find him watching me, cool and calm as ever, and it’s the exact reminder I need that Miles is accomplished at this. He does this all the time. He makes women feel things so he can get what he wants—casual, easy, no strings attached.
And that’s not me.
