Page 95 of Doctorshipped
Oh. My. Gosh.
That kiss!
What does it mean?
Where did it come from?
What comes next?
I tamp down my inner over-thinker and try to anchor myself to this moment—to Grant. We can’t just sit here snuggling on the bleachers like an old married couple. We need to consider Fiona. And the entire town. Any one of them could look over here, and irrevocably smash our privacy in an instant. If someone saw us, we’d become the hottest subject the Bordeaux rumor mill has passed around since Cooter got drunk and ended up passed out in someone else’s bed.
Reluctantly, I sit up, putting a little distance between myself and Grant.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
His arm remains looped behind my back, his hand cupping my shoulder in a more possessive and steadying grip now.
“Beyond okay,” I assure him.
He chuckles and it’s radiant. I know. I sound like I’m reading a page out ofCharlotte’s Web, but there really aren’t adequate words for the sight that is Grant Peppers when he’s fully open, calm, and truly happy.
I did that. I put that grin on his usually stern face.
Well, we did—he and I. And boy-howdy, did we?
That kiss.
Suffice it to say I went on some dates in college. Then I dated Shane, followed by a brief stint with a few guys from a dating app. Aside from those few failed attempts to find a potential love interest, I’ve been sworn to singleness ever since my breakup with Shane several years ago.
My first kiss in ninth grade went as could be expected—a lot like a couple of blind salamanders trying to wrestle over a slug they each wanted to devour for supper. What can I say? We were eager and inexperienced, and it was gross. The only thing that kiss convinced me of was my need to wait for boys to mature before I tried kissing them again. After that kiss, I didn’t have to try to fend boys off because I wasn’t really the girl they usually went for anyway.
Shane—whom I’d rather not think about ever again, let alone here and now in this afterglow from the kiss of my lifetime—well, he kissed okay. Yep. He was an okay kisser. And if I were a woman hell-bent on retribution, I’d send him an email or text telling him as much. Maybe I’d have a custom T-shirt designed for him:World’s OK-est Kisser.
Kissing Grant feels like I finally had my first real kiss—the kiss to end all kisses. I’ve never kissed someone who elicited so many layers of emotion in me, let alone the sensations firing off in my body while we connected. And I’ve never wanted someone the way I want him right now.
Grant.
He’s so unexpected, and yet, it’s so very right how we fit one another like two pieces of a puzzle, filling in the open spaces and each making up for what the other lacks.
I look over at Grant. He’s studying me, and patiently waiting for my reaction.
“I’m thinking of Fiona. We should probably …”
“Not shock her,” Grant finishes for me.
“Yeah. In a dream world, we’d tell her we’re now kissing buddies and she’d be ecstatic. But I’m not living in a dream world. ”
“Kissing buddies?” he chuckles. “And since when are you not living in a dream world?”
I nudge his ribs with my elbow and he laughs. I could get used to this side of him. I think I’d honestly miss his broodiness and grumpy demeanor if he turned into some persistently happy version of himself, but right now I’m reveling in the privilege of having uncorked this contented side of Grant.
“You’re right,” he says, dropping his hand, but rubbing it down my back slowly so as to ease us into the inevitable separation.
I place my hand on his knee. I’m not ready to stop touching him. As a matter of fact, I don’t know how I’m going to be in the same room as him and not touch him from here on, which could prove to be a real problem.
“We’ll tell her,” he says.
“About the kissing.”
