Page 50 of Sweet Caroline
“Hey, thanks for pointing that out. Not like it wasn’t taking up ninety percent of my brain space already.”
He holds up his hands. “I’m just saying, all that political fuckery right before an election?—”
“Yeah, I know what you’re saying. And you’re not wrong.” I rub my jaw. “But I’m telling ya, man, Caroline’s not like that. She’s not like her dadat all. I can feel it. She’s…”—I try to find the words—“good.”
Gus leans back in his seat, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his LVFD hoodie. “So, lemme get this straight. She’s beautiful andgoodand you trust her and, aside from her asshole dad and having to flee the scene—good job, by the way—you had a great time together?”
“Pretty much. And I may have also… kissed her.” I grimace as Gus’ brows shoot up. “Like… alot.”
“For the cameras?”
A high-pitched sound sneaks out of my throat, like I’m a guilt-filled balloon with a slow leak.
His expression falls. “So,notjust for the cameras.”
“Shit.” I scrub both palms down my face, knowing I’d taken it a bit too far with the wholepracticething. “I’d say it was an out-of-body experience, but my body was”—I bug out my eyes—“definitelythere.”
He points a thumb over his shoulder. “If you’re gonna tell me about your dick, I’m out.”
“Fuck off.” I’m absolutelynottelling my best friend about the masturbatory fever dream part of the night. The part where kissing Caroline had sent me into some kind of agonized sexual fugue state.
“But it was good?” Gus asks, cutting into my thoughts.
Damn, did I say any of that out loud?
When I don’t answer right away, he adds, “The kiss, dumbass.”
I puff air through my lips. “Let’s just say I might go to my grave thinking about it.”
He nods slowly, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Explain to me again how you’re not really dating this girl?”
11
CAROLINE
It’s almost a week before I see Miles again. He’d texted the morning after the fundraiser to apologize for taking things too far, joked that his moves were a bit rusty, sent a GIF of Homer Simpson disappearing into a hedge, then asked if it was cool if we waited a few days before getting together again.
I have to admit, the obvious panic spiral was kinda sweet.
And I’d agreed. Of course I’d agreed. He’s not the only one who needed time to cool off. I’d been too worked up to sleep that night without a release, and desperate times had called for desperate measures. Perhaps a littletoodesperate.
Outside the narrow, brick-lined alley leading to El Taco Guapo, I scan the street for Miles and clutch his neatly folded hoodie against my chest. Not finding him anywhere, I shift the sweatshirt under one arm and pull out my phone. I scroll back past the few messages we’ve exchanged since that kiss—that brain-melting, time-bending, world-warping kiss—and confirm I’ve got the time and place correct for our fake date. I have. At a loss for what else to do while I wait, I reread his last messages from Sunday morning—for probably the twentieth time.
Miles
Promise to act like a gentleman when I see you next. Cage the beast and all that.
I really am sorry.
I know how Ishouldreact. I should accept his apology. I should agree the kiss was too much, too far, too intense. I should see Miles as a friend. A kind stranger who stumbled into a sticky situation and who—instead of bolting when I decided for us both that he could play the role of my new boyfriend—stepped up.
That’s what Ishouldsee. And I can almost get there. Sensible Caroline is at the ready with her notebook full of reasons and facts and logic.
He’s not available!she shouts.He’s just doing you a favor!she scolds.Stop thinking about kissing him!
She waves her infernal logic in my face with increasing fervor every time I slip back into the memory of Miles’ hands on my neck. Every time I picture that hungry look in his eyes before our bodies slammed together. Every time I foolishly give in to the urge to smell the hoodie he left behind. His scent is subtle yet intoxicating. Clean but earthy—like soap with a hint of sandalwood.
My fingers clench and I brush my thumbs over the worn fabric, transported right back to the warmth of his arms.
