Page 13 of The Fear of Falling
Man, there was once a time when I didn’t hesitate to say anything that was on my mind, but right now I’m terrified to speak the truth even though I get the sense Benson is an honesty kind of guy. He certainly didn’t hesitate to tell me abouthisinterest.
Benson nudges my arm with his own. “You’re not what, Avery?”
I shrug. “I’m not a week-long fling in Italy kind of girl.”
“But you used to be.”
My eyes fly wide. “What? How do you know that?”
Laughing, he pulls up the camera on my phone and flips it to selfie mode. “Call it a hunch. What do you say we play with your sister a bit?”
I’m not sure I like the sound of that, but I’m too curious to argue. “How?”
He lifts the phone to take a picture of himself, which is genius. But then, too quickly for me to realize what he’s doing, he tucks an arm around my waist and pulls me close, and then his lips are on my jaw.
What is happening?
The kiss lingers more than I expect it to, and I can’t breathe or move or react in any way as I close my eyes and let my mind jump from one sensation to another. The feel of his hand on myribcage. The smell of his cologne. The slight rasp of his scruff. The warmth of his mouth.
He might stay there for minutes or maybe it’s seconds, but it isn’t long enough. Slipping his hand free and stepping back, he keeps his focus on whatever he’s doing on my phone as if kissing someone’s jaw is an everyday occurrence for him. Maybe it is. Benson’s still a stranger, and he might be the biggest player on the planet for all I know. He seems genuine, but maybe that’s how charmers like him come across to everyone they flirt with.
Benson chuckles at something on my phone, and I lean in to see Dani’s response. Multiple responses.
Dani:
Yes!!!!!!!!
Mason pointed out that your boy-toy missed.
Also, where’s the gelato?
“Missed?” I ask in bewilderment. Benson didnotmiss. I still feel a spot of fire where his lips caressed my skin. “You didn’t—oh.” The realization hits me hard, and I drop my face into my hands. “She’s the worst. I’m so sorry.”
“I thought about it.”
My hands slip, and I stare at him. “What?”
He shrugs. “I missed your mouth on purpose, but I almost didn’t.”
“Gah.”
Laughing, he tucks my phone into his pocket and asks, “Where are you off to now?”
We’re going to move on from the whole kissing comment like it’s nothing? Okay. “Are you stealing my phone?”
“Temporarily. What’s your plan for the day?”
It certainly wasn’t to flirt with the swooniest man I’ve ever seen. I need to take control of this situation before Benson overwhelms my prefrontal cortex. The logical brain was not built to withstand a man like him. “Um. I was going to take a tour of the Uffizi Gallery, and I don’t want to be late for my booking, so I’d like my phone back.”
He looks at me for a long moment, though I have no idea what he sees. This interaction, every bewildering second of it, is the first time we’ve been face to face without distractions, and there’s something in the way he studies me right now that leaves me feeling exposed. But it’s not a bad feeling, which is terrifying in and of itself.
The more good feelings I have about this guy, the more likely I’ll get myself into trouble.
“Who’s your favorite painter?” Benson asks, folding his arms.
I tilt my head. “Is this a quiz?”
“Sure. Name one of your top artists.”
