Page 17

Tate shivered, and I didn’t hesitate to extend one of my wings in invitation. He eyed it warily, but eventually passed his dishes off to Carter and shuffled closer as his roommate scurried off. Not enough for our bodies to touch, but it was closer. He wasn’t running away from me.

“I freaked out the other night.”

“Really? I assumed you really had to pee.”

“I ran outside,” Tate laughed.

“It was a frat party! People could be fucking in the bathrooms; you could have a kink for marking your territory or something—I don’t know your life.”

I would have kept spouting bullshit all night if it meant I’d keep hearing him laugh like that. I’d lived my entire life not knowing that I needed that sound more than I needed my next breath.

But when it faded away, I decided to try sincerity. “I’d like to.”

Tate must have spaced out, because that adorable look of confusion scrunched his face up again. “Hm?”

“I don’t know your life, Tate, but I’d like to.”

A weighted silence settled between us then, and Tate worried his bottom lip until it turned red. My hands clenched in my lap, itching to reach up and tug his poor lip free.

If anyone was going to bite it, it was going to be me.

“That was my first kiss.”

My brows hit my hairline, and I forced myself to keep my mouth shut. He was opening up to me.

“You were my first kiss, and that was all it took for me to cream my pants like a teenager.” A disbelieving laugh burst out of him.

“I’d never come in my pants before then either,” I lied. He didn’t need to know what happened on that perch outside his window.

Tate’s head whipped toward me so fast that I was surprised he hadn’t gotten dizzy.

“You ran off before I could haul you into the first empty room I could find and prove it to you,” I told him. I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “But, Tate, if that was your first kiss… That changes things.”

“I know. Nobody wants the virgin. I get it.” He sighed and dropped his attention to his lap.

Oh, hell no.

“That’s not what I meant.”

I hooked a finger under his chin, tipping his face to mine and not wasting another second before I claimed his mouth. Neither of us had been drinking. We weren’t surrounded by drunk college students at a rowdy frat party.

If Tate never chose to kiss me again, this was going to be the memory he left with: sparkling lights above us, crickets sounding somewhere in the distance. The faint hint of salt from our food, and something… sweeter beneath, like Tate had his own distinct flavor that I was lucky enough to know.

This time, the kiss wasn’t fueled by tequila and lust.

Butterflies kicked to life in my stomach and when Tate whimpered, they went wild. I didn’t shove my tongue into his mouth like before. I licked at the seam of his lips, gently asking for entry, elated when he opened up for me.

Our tongues danced briefly, and then I broke off the kiss, keeping it soft and sweet.

Just like him.

“You shouldn’t remember your first kiss like that.”

“But—”

“That was just a test run.”

A gasp burst out of Tate, his breath a warm puff of air against my lips. I still held onto his chin, my left wing still wrapped tight around his body. His dark, hunter eyes sparkled beneath the twinkling lights, his attention darting to my mouth. “Can we keep practicing?”