Page 33 of The Slapshot and the Single Mom
Mirroring my expression, he reaches up and gently presses his thumb against my lower lip. I stop pouting, but his thumb continues stroking my lip, then his finger moves under my chin, tipping my head up a little. His eyes meet mine for a moment, and it feels like the world stops spinning entirely. Like we’re frozen in this moment, not even breathing.
Then he lowers his head, his eyes focused on my mouth. He’s moving slow enough that I could turn or pull away, but I don’t. His lips press against mine, soft and warm, and then the kiss is over as quickly as it started. He pulls back, and I suck in a breath like I’ve been underwater. But then he looks at my eyes, back at my mouth, and he kisses me again, this time wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close.
I press up on my tiptoes, wanting to be as close to him as I can, wrapping my arms around him as well, gripping the fabric of his T-shirt with my hands.
He kisses me over and over, his fingertips pressing into my back and shoulder, his hands spread so wide they cover me from nape to hip. His chest is firm against mine, and when his lips finallyleave mine, he’s breathing hard, his heart racing in his chest. Mine is too, now that I pay attention to it.
He continues holding me for a moment, staring down into my face. Then, slowly, he releases me, his hands becoming less firm, his arms going lax, and he steps back, clearing his throat. I do the same, tucking a stray strand of hair that escaped my ponytail behind my ear.
Running a hand through his hair, he stares at me, still not saying anything.
Finally, I can’t take the tension anymore, and I offer him a lopsided grin. “Still think you should leave?”
He moves behind one of the dining room chairs, gripping it with both hands until his knuckles turn white. His mouth opens and closes once or twice before he clears his throat again and dips his chin in a nod that has my heart plummeting through my stomach. He’s going to kiss me like that and still just leave?
Drawing in a ragged breath, he shakes his head. “Trust me, Maggie, I really want to stay. But I don’t …” He trails off, runs a hand through his hair, then gestures toward the rest of my apartment. “I don’t want to do anything that you’ll regret later. I don’t want to ruin this.”
“Oh,” I say, the word tiny in the silence of my apartment. What else is there to say, though?
I could try to convince him that we could just makeout on the couch for a while because I’d honestly love that right now.
He’s right, though, that some part of me would feel pressure to do more. And I think he can tell that I have a hard time saying noto people. So he’s saying no for both of us. Because he’s worried about me and about my needs.
“Okay,” I whisper feeling raw and closer to tears than I should. I’m not sad. Or upset. More just … overwhelmed.
He groans, reaches for me, pulls me to him again for another soul-shattering kiss, and this time his hands land on my hips, pulling my belly against him, and I feel him growing hard against me. His tongue traces my lower lip, and I open for him with a gasp, sliding my tongue against his.
His hands move up, cupping my face as he kisses me thoroughly before softening to a few small pecks. His eyes move back and forth between mine, his brow low and earnest. “I care about you a lot, Maggie. I hope you know that.”
“I care about you, too, Jack,” I whisper, my hands gripping his forearms.
“I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
I smile. “I’m not.”
He lets out a slow breath and smiles back. “Good. But I should leave so it stays that way. I want to keep seeing you. I know that I said I’d keep things friendly between us, but …”
I squeeze his arm. “It’s okay, Jack. I kissed you back.”
Looking relieved, he grins again. “You did. That’s true.” His eyes stray to my lips again. “I really should go home.”
“If you say so.”
Chuckling, he shakes his head. “I know so. Okay. One more kiss for the road. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
This kiss is like the first, soft and sweet and over far too soon.
“Bye, Maggie,” he says, one hand on the doorknob. “I had the best time with you. And I don’t even like baseball that much.” With one last flash of his smile, he’s gone.
I stand and stare at the door for a minute. Maybe ten. I don’t really know.
Did that … did that really just happen?
And here I’d thought that I’d actually scared him off that first night. By the time we met up for lunch and he proposed this dating-but-as-friends thing, I was sure he didn’t want to pursue me in any kind of romantic capacity.
But … he kissed me. Really kissed me. And it was amazing.
