“Yeah?” Is he thinking what I’m thinking he might be thinking?
My mind can’t go there. It can’t.
But his fingers are stroking my cheeks with such reverence, and even though his eyes are shrouded by the darkness, and I can no longer see the flecks of color in his eyes, no longer see the shards of blue and green that dance around his black irises, I still feel his gaze on me.
His breath merges with mine.
And then his lips brush against mine, caressing them.
A moment later, we’re really kissing. My fingernails curl, digging into sand and shells, as his slick torso slides against mine. I move my fingers to his face and stroke Jason’s cheeks as we kiss, lips meeting, tongues dancing together. I savor his lips over and over and over.
This is how Jason’s lips move. This is how his tongue moves. This is how his arms clutch onto me, as if he’s worried I’ll walk away. There’s no chance though. Right now, I’m his. Maybe I’ve always been his.
My fingers glide over Jason’s ribs, exploring trails I’ve been aching to touch for days, until I render him panting and gasping and moaning.
I’m kissing Jason Larvik. Just like at hockey camp.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jason
I am kissing Cal.
I didn’t plan to kiss him.
But I’ve been thinking about him for days, and now that my lips are on his, I don’t want to let go. So instead, I focus on the feel of Cal’s lips against mine, and the way his hands touch me tentatively, and then with force, so I sigh, relieved, concentrating only on the feel of him against me. I focus on how his body feels pressed against mine, and the way his tongue swirls. He has the sort of stubble that comes from being stranded on a tropical island for days with no razor in sight. I do too.
It’s not a turn off.
The kiss is good.
I’ve kissed my share of women. Bar hookups are my thing.
But this is an excellent kiss, like in all my memories.
Cal chuckles against my mouth.
Does he think this is amusing? I mean, I guess this is amusing. Maybe cliched in its own way.
I stop the kiss.
Cal tightens his arms around me. “Sorry. I-I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t mean what...?”
“You don’t have to give me mouth-to-mouth to keep me warm.”
I drop my arms.
I want to stomp away. I hate the rush of emotions.
I want to tell him I’m not that way and I’m some dumb jock who thought the best way to keep someone warm was by sticking his fucking tongue in the other person’s mouth.
But I don’t want to do that to Cal. And the thing is, even though I super hope we’ll wake up to the sound of rescuehelicopters, I don’t know it for sure. I have to live with him and I like living with him, even if it’s out in the open and we don’t have a bed or blankets or anything separating us from the stars thousands of light-years above us.
“Sorry,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m so dorky sometimes.”
My lips swerve up. “I can’t deny that.”
