Page 50 of The Americana Playbook

Here we go, I think to myself. Back in high school, I probably would’ve tried to talk her out of something like this. But fuck that. I’m not bending a knee to anyone except Parker—certainly not Secret Service, and the White House.

I glance down at strappy heels she wears. “Can you run in those shoes?”

“I’ve done a double in heels higher than this, Fitzy. I’m not quite the princess you think I am.”

“Damn. The only thing that would make this better would be me carrying you.”

Parker stops me when I reach for the door handle. “Wait.”

I peek over my shoulder at her, and snicker. “Chicken.”

Throughout our lives, she rarely has been, so I enjoy this chance to tease her. But I’m not met with a heavy sigh or a roll of her eyes. Instead, Parker has a pensive look across her face, lips pursed in thought.

“Do you think we should kiss?”

That’s a pretty stupid question to ask me. I happen to think we should start kissing and never stop.

“At the gala,” Parker clarifies when I don’t answer. “Like in front of the cameras. Or is that corny?”

I bring my body back her way, my knee pressing into her bare thigh peeking through the slit of her dress. “Do youwantme to kiss you at the gala?”

Our brief conversation the other night about boundaries didn’t include this subject, which was either a mistake or a genius move on my part.

“Itwould look good, I guess. But only if it comes naturally. Maybe we should practice.”

“You can’t practice natural. You either are or you aren’t. And besides”—I narrow my eyes as I slide over—“do I look like the guy who needs to practice kissing his fiancée?”

Parker’s bare shoulders begin to rise and fall quickly.

“Putting too much pressure on this is going to make it as unnatural as possible. We’ll improvise, and it’ll be fine. You’ll be less nervous not seeing it coming.”

For me, it’s not about nerves, but I tell her that anyway even though the truth is I don’t want to share our first kiss with the world. I wantthatmoment to myself.

Parker clears her throat “You’re right.”

I rotate my body toward the door for only a second before I swing back in her direction, finding her fumbling to close the small purse sitting in her lap. I tuck a finger beneath her chin to direct her face back to mine. I only get to enjoy the shock on her features for the briefest second before I close the space between us.

I know it’s going to come across to Parker as improvising. But the truth is, I’ve been rehearsing my role in this scene for as long as I can remember.

For as long, maybe, as there’s beenher, there’s been a wild fantasy about the pillowy lips I claim with my own. There’s been wondering about the sweetness of her breath and what it’s like to be this close. And there’s been constant wonder about how it would feel for Parker to kiss me back once she’s made it on the other side of the shock and awe, which she does after a handful of my racing heartbeats.

And it’s better than anything I could’ve dreamed up.

She feeds the softest, sweetest, surprised sigh into my mouth as she leans into the kiss, and I don’t want to back away. I want to live in this moment where I’m not afraid to slip my hand to the small of her back. I want to savor the feel of her flexing her fingers that landed on my chest, to remember the soft contours and movements of her jaw in my palm.

Parker presses against me before she pulls back, untangling our lips. But I still hold her cheek and cradle her back.

I thought kissing her might be the best moment of my life, but that actually comes after—it’s the flex of her smile into my hand.

“If you were nervous,” I whisper. “I couldn’t tell.”

Parker’s breath fans over my lips. “You were right. You don’t need the practice.”

But I think I do. Because from what I can tell, her lipstick remains perfect, but she checks it anyway, digging a small mirror from her purse. When she’s satisfied, she returns the mirror to her bag, seemingly shocked when she finds me staring. But I’m the shocked one a moment later because she lifts her hand, pressing a finger to my lips.

Another perfect smile blossoms across her face and makes me melt.

“I’ve got your mark on me, don’t I?”

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