“I get the picture.” Her right eyebrow arched.
The second part of my plan was about to unfold. I flipped through her yearbook. “Let me just find it… Oh, there it is…” I cleared my throat. “Bronte, what’s one of your favorite childhood memories?” I smiled. “By the way, you were wearing my face in this picture. I think it was Celebrity Crush Day? Oh, my bad, just a Tuesday—”
Two fries went flying by my face. “You guys were like the One Direction of my teens, okay? Everyone wore your face!”
“Wish I could wear your face,” I grumbled and then winked. “Sorry, it slipped.”
“Can’t take you anywhere.” Hey, at least she was smiling.
“You would make my entire year if you told me you had the tin lunchbox with the Thermos of Will’s face. He had a zit that day, and they didn’t edit it out very well, so it was obvious. Poor guy was pissed for weeks and even more pissed when they sold out of them. I texted him the picture every Friday just to fuck with him.”
Bronte broke into laughter. “That’s mean.”
“Correction, that’s friendship.” My chest deflated as I realized I hadn’t spoken to him in a few days. Not just that, but things were still awkward. For both of us. It didn’t matter that we’d put aside our differences, or that we were adults now.
The chasm between us still wouldn’t fix, no matter how much we tried.
Bronte cleared her throat, bringing me back to the moment.
“I had the lunchbox,” she whispered quietly.”
My head shot up as I cupped my right ear. “I’m sorry, what was that?”
She glared. “I had the stupid lunchbox. I mean, I didn’t bring it to school, but…”
I scooted my chair closer to hers and leaned in. “Talk dirty to me— Do you still have it? Sleep with it under your pillow at night? Tell me you used to daydream about touching one of us…”
She moved her head closer until we were almost touching. “What makes you think my crush was you?”
I frowned and looked back at the yearbook then pointed to the picture. “My face. Your boobs. Any questions?”
I didn’t like the smile she was giving me; it felt sneaky. “I had all the shirts, and that one was gifted to me by one of my friends on my birthday so technically…”
“Technically, you’re still wearing my face.”
“Technically, my crush could have been one of the other guys.”
“By my calculations, it wasn’t Will. You know, because of the zit. I mean, who dates a guy with one zit? He’s basically a monster.”
She licked her lips, completely distracting me for a minute.
“And Trevor? Well, he was born a dad. Where’s the fun in that? I mean, not really but, Trevor was always the more serious one. And you say you like serious, but your body says something else completely, so he’s out.” I tapped my finger against her cheek — bonus for me, one more stolen touch. “And let’s be really honest. While Ty’s the clown of the group, he used to fart on his drumsticks because he thought it was funny. That shit made the news. So that leaves… me.”
“You…” She eyed my mouth for a brief second then glanced up. “…you could be… accurate.”
“Wanna know a secret, Bronte?”
“Sure.” She gulped.
“Had our places been reversed, I would have put your face on my walls too. I would have gone to every concert, sung every word, and I would have most likely written something horrifyingly embarrassing like Mr. Drew Connors on my Trapper Keeper because, even as a teen, I was all about equality, and why not take the woman’s name? It just marks you as hers, doesn’t it?”
Her eyes brightened, and then she leaned in and pressed the softest kiss I’d ever received to the corner of my mouth and then the other, and just when I thought I was going to die on the spot from want, she pressed that pouty mouth full-on against my lips.
I could write a hundred love songs based on that kiss.
On this moment.
I could break a million hearts over and over again talking about how her soft breath fanned my face, how her lips slid against mine, how her tongue darted out as if she was worried about deepening it, but then took the chance anyway and was rewarded over and over again as I dug my hands into her hair and kept her prisoner.
I never imagined a single kiss could alter the way you saw the world, but somehow, she’d just done that.
She’d made me want to sing.
And I’d never in my life had a kiss that inspired me to the point of breaking.
She pulled away too soon.
My hand dropped from her hair and cupped her face. “We’re going to do that again.”
Swollen pink lips tempted me beyond all reason as she ducked her head and laid it against my chest.
I held her there, wondering what the hell I could say that would convince her that this was so much more than a few fun days together, but I didn’t want to ruin anything. I didn’t want to scare her away, and I sure as hell didn’t want to ask for more of what I knew she might not be able to give.
“What makes you so sure?” she asked as I thumbed her lower lip; it was still wet from our kiss.
I brought my thumb to my mouth and gave it a slow lick. “Damn,” I said softly, “I can still taste you.”
“Fries and a margarita?” she teased, a bit breathless.
“Nah, what I taste is all you.” I sighed and then leaned back. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that little gift you just gave me. Don’t suppose you’ll tell me so I can make sure to do it again.”
Bronte smiled and crossed her legs. “That’s easy… you were just being you.”
My chest tightened.
If she knew…
Really
