Page 42 of Love.V2
Dylan slid the wineglass back on the table, leaning forward on his elbows. I mirrored his pose, only a few inches and a fake candle danced between us.
“Some might say that.” I swallowed, searching his face. “What do you say?”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, lips pursing as he swept his gaze across my face and lower. Goosebumps erupted on my skin as he took in the curve of my bare shoulder. The dip in my throat. The vee of my top that gave him just a peek of cleavage.
“I say”—his eyes returned to mine, fire lighting in their depths—“perfect.”
***
Dylan insisted on parking on the street and walking me to my door. Very chivalrous. Very nerve-wracking.
On one hand, it reminded me of college, when he’d walk me as far into the girls’ dorm as he could, then wait on the sidewalk for me to wave out my window.
On the other hand, it made me think about how we’d crashed and collided up these same stairs last week with our mouths fused together.
“I don’t remember there being this many stairs,” Dylan said, running his fingers across the handrail like it had appeared there by magic.
“Third floor walkup,” I chimed, trying to sound light and breezy, when really I was thinking about how he’d ripped my tights open in the middle of the hallway.
“Yeah, well, I might have been distracted the last time I was here.”
We topped the stairs, and our eyes fell to the wall beside my door. The ripping sound of sheer nylon still floated around the landing.
I looked at Dylan as he glanced at me. A wicked grin tilted his lips up.
He’d shaved earlier today, but now the shadow across his face made me want to reach out and feel it. I didn’t mind if he was rough against me. My best memories with Dylan were the ones where he was a little unkempt. Relaxed and almost sloppy in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.
Dylan took a step closer. “Tess.”
Every nerve in my body jumped at the sound of him saying my name. Like a question. Like an answer. I reminded myself again it was ridiculous to feel nervous. It wasn’t like this was actually our second date. Or like I hadn’t kissed him before.
Was he going to kiss me? Unbidden, my eyes darted to the wall again, like I had some sort of heat-seeking memory device in my brain that pinpointed the exact location of the last time I’d nearly combusted.
“You remember back in college?” I blurted, because my brain was desperately trying to reboot itself. “When you used to wait for me to wave at you when I got back to my dorm room?”
His face warmed, looking fond. “Of course.”
“I always wondered what you thought would happen to me in between the lobby and my room.”
“Nothing.” He shrugged, taking another step closer. I backed away instinctively. After the nuclear detonation from the last time we’d stood here, I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Should I invite him in? Leave him in the hall and ask myself for the rest of the night if I regretted going in alone?
Wait. “Nothing? You didn’t ask me to wave at you because you wanted to make sure I got to my room safe?”
“Nah, it was a college dorm. Key card security.” He took another step closer. My shoulder blades touched the scuffed drywall beside my door.
“Then why?”
His mouth hooked to the side as he slid the back of his fingers across my cheek. I shivered at the touch. “I just wanted to see your face one last time. You usually blew me a kiss, and I liked that, too.”
His index finger traced my bottom lip, and it felt more intimate than when we were here the last time. My brain fried.
“I don’t know if I should invite you in or not.”
The pad of his thumb felt rough against my cheekbone, dragging. “On the second date? Scandalous.”
“I’m serious. I don’t know what the plan is here.” My fingers wiggled in the inches between our bodies, as if that could encapsulate all the history and newness and familiarity swirling between us. Some people liked the butterflies in the stomach feeling of a first kiss. The ‘will they lean in?’ ‘Is it going to happen now?’
Not me. I was awkward and anxious enough without adding attraction into the mix.
