Mine Would Be You (50)

I blink, cursing myself inwardly because I can’t take the ego inflation he’ll have if he knows I’ve called him that. “No, I didn’t.” But I say it too quickly.

His lip twitches. “Yes, you did. And now you’re nervous and don’t want me to know.”

This time I move closer to him; my folded knee touches his legs. If I moved any closer, I’d be sitting between them on the concrete ledge. I rest my hand on his leg, and his eyes latch onto it. His skin is cooler than mine, a nice contrast, but still, he warms me.

“Are you trying to distract me?”

Innocently, “No.” I pause and meet his eyes.

Eye contact used to make me nervous. In bars or on dates that never worked out, I always looked away. Or right past them at the wall to feign eye contact. But with Jackson, it’s as easy as breathing.

“Well, is it working?” I ask, my eyes roaming over him. The blond curls, the freckles, the shape of him.

His eyes flicker to my lips and back up to me. “Yes,” he responds shamelessly. He hasn’t looked back at the book once and I could care less about the word now. I just want him to keep looking at me.

I can’t help but smile, and I lean up, making myself taller as we sit close together. He watches my every move, not missing a thing. His lips are quirked up slightly, but I see his heartbeat in the crook of his neck, faster than usual as he waits for me to make a decision. I lean closer, forgetting everything else, all the people and the crowds around me, except for him.

“See something you like?” he repeats my earlier words to me, lowly. The tension between us is pulled tight and humming with energy.

My heart beats loudly in my chest, and every part of my skin feels like the soft fluttering of a butterfly landing on your finger.

“Yes.”

My eyes flicker from his lips to his eyes to the way his skin glows in the warm sunlight. I’m nervous because there is no turning back from this, but I also haven’t felt like this in years, and I refuse to run from this feeling. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted to feel.

I push closer, and it feels like he wants this as much as I do. It sends a thrill through me, and I place my hands on the concrete and push myself upwards, effectively connecting our lips.

It’s soft, warm, and everything I’ve imagined it would be. But better, so much better. He presses closer, leaning down, and his movements are slow, hesitant, as if he’s scared that if he moves too fast, I’ll run away.

But I kissed him, and I don’t really want to stop.

At some point, he must set the book down because his hands come up to cup my cheeks. The movement surprises me, the touch gentler than I expected, and I pull back for a half second, meeting his gaze. He must like what he sees in my eyes because he pulls me back in just as quickly.

All hesitation disappears this time. The coolness of his hands, the chill of the metal band around his middle finger, and the contrasting warmth of his aura surrounds me. I still feel the smile on his lips, and I can taste the cake batter from his ice cream as his tongue swipes my lips softly, sending a wave of red-hot heat to pass over my skin and settle in the pit of my stomach.

The kiss is slow and purposeful, and everything I’m feeling overwhelms me in the best way. As he holds my cheeks gently, he surrounds me. His warmth, and the addicting smell of him, is everywhere all at once. One thumb brushes over my cheek, a wave of goosebumps following as my lips part for him without hesitation. If I could get closer to him, I would.

Our lips move in sync. It’s not awkward. There is no finding a rhythm because we already have one. Perfectly. He washes over me like a wave, and I’m diving in headfirst. I’m breathless and burning, and I love it. I want to drown in it.

We pull back at the same time. His hands stay on my face for a moment longer. I lean forward, wrapping my hand around his wrist, his thumb brushing back as I give a final soft and simple kiss. Our hands fall away, but the feelings linger. I don’t think anyone or anything could pull the big, dimple-bearing smile off his face.

My cheeks heat instantly as I attempt to catch my breath, my surroundings coming back to me. The fact that I willingly took part in a public display of affection without any hesitation. But with him looking at me like that, there was no way I could’ve stopped myself.

“So,” he begins, and I think I’m redder than before as I push myself back, creating a bit of distance between us.

“Stop it,” I mutter, trying to come back to myself, avoiding his gaze now.

He sits up straight, looking happier than ever as he watches me. I shake my head, ignoring the low hum of embarrassment I feel, even though it’s nothing in comparison to the warmth he left behind on my skin. I try to scoot a bit further, but he doesn’t let me, his hand landing on my leg, squeezing the spot right above my knee.

“You’re hot when you’re embarrassed.”

My heart beats quickly in my chest as he watches me. “Stop.”

Jackson moves closer again, my knee between his. “What, now I can’t look at you?” he asks playfully, and I’m so distracted by him I forget to breathe for a second.

The effects of the kiss are still everywhere. I want to kiss him until I have every kind memorized, every move, the shape of his lips, all of it. I inhale.

“Well, yes, but stop looking at me like that,” I say. I don’t mean it. He can look at me however he wants.