Page 11 of Practice Makes Perfect
I respond with what Ihopeis a reassuring shrug, then turn to Linc, who’s gesturing for me to lead the way. I do so, hyper-aware of how close he is behind me. The bar is crowded, forcing us to squeeze through clusters of people. Someone jostles me, and I stumble slightly.
Then Linc’s hand catches my elbow, steadying me. “Easy there,” he says, his mouth close to my ear. “Wouldn’t want you falling for me.”
Five alarm fire at O’Neil’s, my mind screams at me.HE. TOTALLY. IS.
I turn to face him, and he’s grinning. “That was awful,” I say, but I’m smiling, even as my mind is racing a million miles an hour.
“Made you smile though,” he shrugs, then flags down the bartender with remarkable ease. “Another beer and…” He looks at me questioningly.
“Cider, please.”
The bartender nods and moves away to fill our order.
“So, this reading list,” I prompt, pulling out my phone again, and double-triple-quadruple checking I havenoemail from Professor Chen. “I can’t find it…”
“Let me see.” Linc leans closer, his shoulder brushing against mine. He smells incredible—like cedar and something spicy. “Here’s the thing… there isn’t one.”
I blink. “What?”
“There’s no reading list.” His smile turns mischievous. “I just wanted to get you alone for a minute.”
As my heart performs an acrobatic routine worthy of Olympic qualification, and my brain makes a sound resemblingSQUEEEEEE,all I can say is, “Oh.”
The bartender returns with our drinks, saving me from having to respond further. I take a generous sip of cider, hoping the alcohol might jump-start my brain, or shut it up, I’m not quite sure. Linc clearly seems a little disappointed by my reaction, because he gives me a half-smile then turns to head back.
“Why?” I finally ask, my whole body aching for him to stay here. “Why did you want to be alone with me, I mean?”
Linc’s green eyes study my face intently. “Because I’ve been wanting to talk to you since I saw you walk in tonight, and I couldn’t think of a better excuse.”
“You could have just said ‘Hey Em, wanna chat?’” I point out.
“Would you have said yes?”
Good question. Would I have? Probably not. Self-preservation and all that.
“Maybe,” I hedge.
“See? This way was more effective.” He takes a swig of his beer. “You’re gorgeous, smart, and you have the most kissable lips I’ve ever seen. It’s the total package, really, even if I’m not sure that the amount of math you’re studying istotallyhealthy…”
My brain erupts like a science fair volcano—thoughts fizzing and overflowing everywhere. Did Lincoln Garcia—Pine Barren hockey star, campus heartbreaker—just tell me I have kissable lips? Wait, did he just call me gorgeousandsaid I had kissable lips?
“You know,” I start, words tumbling out faster than my brain can filter them, “that’s actually two appearance-based compliments if we’re counting the lips thing separately, which we probably should since that’s more of a specializedsubcategory of facial features rather than a general attractiveness assessment?—”
As I ramble on, I’m vaguely aware of his smile growing wider, but I can’t stop.
“—which is nice, obviously, but feels slightly imbalanced considering all my many non-physical assets that are equally if not more worthy of attention. For example, did you know I can fold a fitted sheet perfectly, or that I’m one of the few?—”
And then he’s kissing me.
His lips press against mine, warm and firm, and my entire nervous system short-circuits. I freeze, my brain struggling to process the fact that Lincoln Garcia is kissing me. In O’Neil’s. In full view of a table filled with our closest friends and in full view ofeveryone.
Oh-my-God-what-is-happening-this-is-not-the-plan…
But when his tongue slides across my lower lip, gentle but insistent, something inside me melts. Suddenly, all thoughts of dating apps are gone, and I unfreeze, my hands reaching up to his shoulders as I lean into him, into the kiss, into whatever madness this is becauseholy crapthis is wonderful.
The kiss deepens, and I’m lost in it, floating away on a sea of sensation. He tastes like beer and mint and something uniquely him that makes me want to conduct extensive taste-testing experiments. The whole maelstrom makes me forget we’re in a crowded bar until someone whoops loudly behind me.
“YEAHHHHH! Way to go, Linc!”
