Page 128 of Enzo

“And?” Molly’s eyes widen.

“She taught me.”

She gasps. “Was it memorable?”

I hesitate. Not because I’m remembering the kiss which wasn’t memorable, but because thinking of a kiss suddenly has me thinking of things that I shouldn't be. I'm aware that she's asked more than one question, but I don't mind.

“Not particularly.”

She sinks back onto her heels, looking a little hot and flustered. She pulls out a block. The tower collapses, causing the bricks to land on the carpet. There's no loud crash this time, but the silence that remains after is deafening.

“I get to ask three questions,” I announce, just as the tightening in my pants momentarily distracts me.

Three questions.

There are questions I want to ask, and questions I probably shouldn't ask, but now that we're at this juncture, why not?

“How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

Her gaze goes up, then to the side, as she’s remembering. A long pause follows before she answers.

“Eighteen.”

Eighteen? That's older than I expected.

I wait silently, wondering if she'll elaborate because she seems to have retreated into herself. She swipes a hand across the back of her neck.

“It wasn't great. He was quiet, like me, in the same class. It happened at a party. We were both curious …” She covers her face with her hands. Her face is red when she takes her hands away. “It might have been his first time, also, because it was ...it wasn't very good.”

I feel bad for her, but not too bad. What jumps out at me more than the awkward kiss is how Molly described herself at school.

“I can’t imagine you being quiet, not at school, not anywhere.” I'm dumbfounded, because I can’t imagine that version of Molly.

“I was like that the whole of—” She cuts off, looks at me, then blinks. That's it. She won't give me more.

“And when did you have your first good kiss?”

She seems to relax at that, which only makes me wonder, what was she afraid I'd ask.

“It was at college. I'm a late starter.” She looks at me and hesitates. “I met this guy at a party in our dorm. He ended up being my first boyfriend. He kissed me that night.”

“And?”

“It was nice.”

I imagine a faceless, nameless, gangly college boy, kissing Molly. She scratches the back of her neck again.

“I mean … it wasn't bad.” She looks away, looks uncomfortable. Her gaze comes back to me. “You’ve had your three questions.”

But I’m now left with even more. I wonder what it would be like to kiss her.

I shift away from the couch, my heart kicking hard against my ribs. I don't do this. I don't make impulsive moves. I like to analyze. I mostly hold back. I stay in control.

Except right now, I don't want to. For once, restraint can go to hell.

I shift closer. Jenga bricks lie scattered on the floor between us, but Molly doesn’t move away. Her dark eyes stay fixed on mine. My heart thunders so loudly I think she can hear it.

My gaze drops to her mouth.