American Panda(50)
He placed a hand over mine, and my palm immediately turned sticky, but propriety be damned—who said sweaty girls couldn’t get the guy? Confidently, I weaved my fingers through his.
We looked into each other’s eyes, no longer in the awkward way of stolen first glances, but in the I-truly-see-you kind of way. The chemistry between us was so strong I could practically see the forces—ionic, covalent, even van der Waals.
Our gazes wandered to other features, our path dictated by the moon’s illumination. I followed the light to his cheekbones to his nose to the mole beside his lip, a pinpoint speck. Had I been sitting farther, I might have mistaken it for a crumb. Somehow I felt like I knew him better now that I had noticed it. A landmark for me to anchor on to.
When his gaze passed over my features, I didn’t feel self-conscious. Just beautiful. The way Darren saw me. The way I now saw myself. It had come at a price, a steep one I still wasn’t fully sure I wanted to pay, but . . . I felt beautiful, completely měi, even down to the off-center mole on my forehead, which for the first time, I didn’t feel the need to hide.
He traced his index finger over the pale-pink scar on my chin.
“I tripped when I was little and there was broken glass on the ground,” I explained.
He leaned down and kissed the scar gently, his breath trailing across my cheek. It was so tender. So compassionate. I turned my head, and our mouths met in an explosion of heat.
I had spent countless hours worrying about how to act in a boy’s presence, reading elicit romance books to try to learn what my parents wouldn’t teach me . . . but now that it was happening, it felt so natural. I didn’t need to think.
I gave in to my impulses, resting my hands on either side of him and pressing my torso to his. I felt his chest heave against mine, and then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him as if he needed me closer than physically possible. I curled into his lap seamlessly, our limbs entangling.
He ran a hand up my back and into my hair, cradling my head. My skin tingled everywhere he touched, little jolts of pleasure that danced through my synapses. And his lips. God, his lips. They were so soft, caressing mine like silk. The tip of my tongue glided gently along them, feeling, tasting.
I wanted more.
Our tongues met, electricity pulsing through me and sending the butterflies in my stomach into a flurry. Our heads, lips, bodies moved in sync, almost as if we were choreographed.
When he pulled away, my breath came out in heavy gasps, forming puffs of fog in the cold air. He brushed my hair back with one hand and trailed soft kisses along my forehead, ear, and cheek.
A siren on the street below startled us, jolting Darren’s jaw into my nose as we turned in different directions. I yelped in pain, then rubbed the sore spot with my fingers. Luckily, his arms had tightened at the noise and I hadn’t rolled off the dome. In that moment, I realized just how precariously balanced we were.
“I’m so sorry!” he exclaimed. His cheeks were flushed—from embarrassment or passion, I wasn’t sure. He brushed a kiss along the bridge of my nose. “Are you okay?”
“Everything’s perfect,” I said, and meant it.
“Maybe we should get out of here before the sirens find us,” he said reluctantly. “And before we freeze.” He rubbed his hands over my arms.
As we slid down the dome on our pìgus, I said, “So . . . there’s this wedding next Saturday. . . .”
He perked up at the word “wedding” and stopped scooting. “I like weddings. Dinner, cake, dancing—what’s not to like?” He struck a pose with his hands, and I smiled, remembering his adorable, flailing jig from MIThenge.
“Would you want to be my plus one?”
“I’d be honored,” he said, the excitement on his face matching the energy in his voice. “Whose is it?”
“My brother’s.”
His face fell, the brightness disappearing like a candle being blown out. “Will that be awkward given everything with, you know, them?”
“My parents won’t be there,” I answered as I returned to scooting, needing the distraction. “They disowned Xing years ago because they don’t approve of his fiancée. That was actually a large part of my disagreement with them, in addition to the career stuff.”
As soon as we were back on solid ground, he took my hands with both of his, squeezing once. The warmth traveled from my palms to my heart. “I’m so sorry about your parents, Mei.”
Surprisingly, it was all I needed. I had thought my situation would require dissecting each piece, brainstorming my next step, maybe even creating a ten-step plan, but those simple words and a kind gesture were enough for now.
Maybe there was something magical about the dome. MIT. Darren.
He held on to my hand until we reached Burton Conner. As we walked, I ran my tongue along my swollen lips, feeling the tenderness to remind me of our kisses, that it wasn’t a dream.
We paused at the dorm’s entrance, where the front light illuminated everything. I snuck a glance at the dark, walled-off garden to the right, the complete opposite of the bright, public spot we stood in now. It felt too creepy to pull him in there, yet I didn’t want to sneak another kiss in the open.
His hands pressed the small of my back, pulling my lips to his. The electricity sparked again, and I sank into him. I no longer cared who could see us. I wouldn’t stop even if my mother were here, hands on hips, that cold stare boring into us.