Page 110 of Even Beneath the Stars

"Yes… Yeah." I splay my hand against the hard muscle of his chest, my fingers fisting his shirt again a little awkwardly. "I'm okay with this." I lean in, nipping his lip with my teeth "Great with this, actually. Permission granted. Let the kissing commence. Godspeed."

He laughs against my lips, but his voice is still soft when he teases, "That your version of dirty talk, Maggie LeClair?"

"The closest I come to dirty talk is wicked one-liner insults," I tell him. "If you wanted dirty talk, you might want to pull the plug now, you lusty eggroll."

Xavier laughs. Low and gruff and So. Flipping. Hot. His laugh has become my most favorite thing.

"Well, I've got nothing else going on tonight…" He sighs dramatically, but his eyes still flicker with heat. "So, guess I'll forego the dirty talk."

"God. Always having to make do. You poor thing."

"I know. Poor me." Heleans in.

"Poor you." My words are a whisper that die on his lips when they touch mine. My mouth parts.

His lips are warm, soft but sure, moving against mine in a way that sends a spark straight to my core. There’s no hesitation, no fumbling—it’s deliberate, like he’s spent time imagining exactly how this would go, and now he’s making good on all of it. My breath catches again as his hand slides from my ribs to the curve of my waist, anchoring me to him.

I tilt my head, letting him deepen the kiss. The pressure of his mouth grows firmer, more insistent, and I swear my knees might give out if it weren’t for the steadying grip of his hand. He tastes faintly of strawberry Gatorade and something darker, something heady I can’t name but already want more of.

His other hand moves to the back of my neck, his fingers threading gently into my hair as if he’s memorizing the way it feels. He tilts my head, just slightly, and the kiss changes—slower, deeper, like he's only just savoring it now, the way I have been, not just following through on burning anticipation.

A small, involuntary sound escapes my throat, and I feel the corner of his mouth twitch against mine, like he heard it, and it’s driving him crazy.

The space between us disappears completely, my chest brushing against his. My hands slide from the fabric of his shirt to the solid plane of his shoulders, and I feel his muscles shift under my touch as he pulls me even closer. I’m drowning in the warmth of him, the quiet rasp of his breath, the faint scent of aloe shampoo and outdoors and something uniquely Xavier.

When we finally break apart, his forehead presses lightly against mine, and for a moment, the only sound is the soft, uneven rhythm of our breathing. I keep my eyes closed, half-afraid that if I open them, I’ll lose the electric charge crackling between us.

“Maggie…” His voice is low, rough, like my name is something sacred. His thumb brushes the line of my jaw, his touch featherlight, but it still makes my skin tingle.

I open my eyes slowly, meeting his gaze. His expression is unreadable, but his pupils are dark, his lips slightly swollen, and I feel something shift in the spacebetween us, like gravity pulling us closer even though there’s no space left to close.

“Yeah?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

His mouth quirks into a crooked grin, the kind that could destroy me if I let it. “I really want to take you on a fourth date." He pulls back. "If you're ok with that." His hands slide to my shoulders. "And maybe a fifth."

I laugh softly, the sound shaky but real. “That's a lot of chicken nuggets.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "No nuggets."

"Then yes."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhmm."

He leans in to kiss me again—just once, soft and lingering, like a promise.

Outside the Observatory, ancient stars keep dying in explosions of glowing hues of color and tendrils of light spilling out in every direction; and massive clouds of gas and dust come together to form new ones.

Chaotic and messy and beautiful.

ChapterForty-Two

Xavier

We do end up going on that fourth date, but not until over a week after my mother ships off again. She stayed home for nine days this time—and Finn was progressively more and more difficult to handle with every one of them. It's a playbook I'm used to by now, since it's the same deal every time she shows up and gives him a speck of her attention—just enough to tease him—then leaves and pulls the same routine all over again. But this was a first for Maggie. I'd warned her, but still, it's a lot to deal with. He's a nightmare. Moody as hell. Lethargic and bratty and angry to the point of going out of his way to piss people off. Because, like me, Finny's good at figuring out what people's buttons are and how to press them.

We made it through the other side alive, though. Maggie was right—having him on a routine helped him handle things better this time around. It was no cake walk, for sure, but he was out of sorts and a total demon for only a week after Jacee shipped back off to Europe, or the Maldives, or where-the-fuck-ever, instead of his usual three weeks.

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