Page 92 of Play Along With Me
"In that case," I murmur, closing the distance between us, "may I?"
Instead of answering, Audrey leans forward, eliminating the final inches separating us. Her lips meet mine with surprising softness—tentative at first, a question rather than a demand. I respond immediately, my hand sliding from her cheek to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair.
What begins as our lips hovering each other's as we gaze into each other's eyes quickly deepens as Audrey makes a small sound in the back of her throat that dismantles what remains of my restraint. My other hand finds her waist, drawing her closer despite the awkward angle of restaurant chairs.
She tastes like tiramisu—sweet with an edge of complexity that makes me want more. Her hand comes up to grip my forearm, fingers pressing into my skin with an urgency that matches my own.
When we finally break apart, both slightly breathless, Audrey's eyes remain closed for a moment longer, as if she's cataloging the sensation. When she opens them, there's a dazed quality to her expression that I find deeply satisfying.
"Well," she says, her voice slightly uneven, "that was... not at all how I expected this fake relationship to develop."
"Disappointed?" I ask, suddenly uncertain.
"The exact opposite," she assures me quickly. "Though I should warn you, I'm a bit out of practice. My last relationship ended a while ago, and there hasn't been anyone since who..." she trails off, gesturing vaguely.
"Who what?" I prompt, wanting to hear her finish the thought.
"Who made me want to try again," she admits. "Until now."
The simple honesty of her statement hits me somewhere deep in my chest. "I know the feeling," I tell her. "Dating as a professional athlete is... complicated. Either they're interested in the idea of dating a hockey player rather than actually dating me, or they get frustrated with the schedule and travel demands. It's easier to just focus on the game."
"And now?" she asks, echoing my earlier question back to me.
"Now I'm thinking some things might be worth the complication," I say honestly.
Her smile in response is real and unguarded, lacking the protective layer of humor she usually maintains. "Smooth, Hockey Jesus. Very smooth."
"I have my moments," I acknowledge with a smile of my own.
"So," she says, her fingers toying with the collar of my shirt in a way that makes it difficult to concentrate, "we've established that we're both disasters with questionable dating histories who are nevertheless interested in seeing where this goes. And we've now crossed the kissing threshold, which definitely takes us out of fake relationship territory and into...something else."
"Something real," I supply.
"Something real," she agrees, sounding both thrilled and terrified by the prospect. "Which means at some point, we should probably discuss expectations, boundaries, the fact that your career involves traveling constantly and potentially relocating with minimal notice—"
I silence her with another kiss, briefer than the first but no less intense. When I pull back, her train of thought seems thoroughly derailed.
"Or we could discuss all that later," she amends breathlessly.
"Much later," I agree. "For now, maybe we just enjoy this moment without overanalyzing it?"
"That's very un-Audrey of me," she warns. "Overthinking is my default setting."
"Mine too," I admit. "Usually. But right now, I just want to be here with you, not planning five steps ahead or worrying about potential complications."
"Living in the moment," she muses. "How very zen of us."
"I have hidden depths," I inform her solemnly.
"Clearly," she agrees, her eyes bright with something that looks like happiness. "Hidden depths, good hair, and excellent kissing skills. You're just full of surprises, Jake Marshall."
"Look who's talking," I counter, running my thumb along her lower lip in a gesture that makes her breath catch. "The writer-bartender with the fictional diabetic cat who somehow charmed my entire family, including my hard-to-impress father, and made me laugh more in three days than I have in the past three months."
"When you put it that way, we sound pretty great," she says with a small laugh.
"We are," I tell her simply. "Or at least, we could be."
The possibility hangs between us, full of potential and uncertainty in equal measure. But looking at Audrey now—her hair slightly disheveled from my fingers, her lips reddened from our kisses, her eyes bright with the same excitement I feel—I'm suddenly certain that whatever happens next, I want to find out where this leads.
