Page 58 of Heart Check
For a minute, we sit there in silence without even looking at each other.
Who you’re just waiting to kiss again.
The lights are off inside, the front window of our split-level dark. My parents are probably asleep after watching the latest episode of their British murder mystery. I’d make fun of them for being nerds, but let’s be honest, I’d normally be joining them.
Instead, I’m in Luke Dawson’s car, inches away from the radiating warmth of his body. Hyperaware of the way his shoulders fill his varsity jacket, of the way his subtle boy scent has permeated the entire car. My arm hair is practically standing on end reaching for him, goosebumps rippling down my arm even under my coat.
Should I… be leaving? I unbuckle my seat belt, and the click is deafening in the silent car.
Dawson clears his throat. “I had a lot of fun tonight.”
It’s the nerves in his voice that finally help me work up the courage to turn to face him.
“Me too.”
Under the faint streetlight, his face is cast into dramatic shadow. It makes his cheekbones and jawline cut even more sharply than usual.
And then he gently reaches out for my scarf, rubbing its knit between his fingers, and my breath hitches in my chest.
Voice low and eyes heavy lidded, he says, “I wanted to do this so badly at the small business fair.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I barely feel it, reaching over only to silence it. I’m too focused on Dawson’s eyes on mine. His face right there, inches away.
“Touch my scarf?” I manage.
“Use it to pull you close.”
And he does, tugging just a little, reeling me in so our noses almost brush. Then he lets go, reaching out slowly for my face, cupping my jaw in one large hockey-player hand.
It sends a shiver through me.
His eyes are on mine, pupils wide, gaze much softer than I ever anticipated Luke Dawson would look at anyone.
“You’re so pretty,” he whispers.
I blush, starting to pull away on instinct, but he grips my chin slightly more firmly. Then his eyes drop to my mouth, and my stomach falls out from underneath me like we’ve just done a loop the loop on the best roller coaster I’ve ever ridden. His lips part like he’s about to say something else, and I hold my breath, waiting for him to finish his thought.
He does by leaning forward to kiss me.
I let out a breathy sigh as soon as our lips meet. God, I’ve been thinking about this ever since I grabbed him at the diner. Just like the sight of Dawson, it was hard to imagine the taste of him could be as good as I remembered. But somehow it’s even better, like he’s gained potency by being untouchable for a few days.
His hands are busy unraveling my scarf, letting it fall to the seat behind me, while I shrug off my coat. The night air shivers against my skin, the heat of the car fading the longer we sit here, but it doesn’t matter, I’m on fire from the inside out.
Then his fingers are weaving through the hair at the nape of my neck, cradling my head to deepen the kiss.
I let out a moan. Unconscious, from somewhere deep in my throat.
I’m almost embarrassed—holy shit, I’m making out with Luke Dawson in his car and it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, hotter than anything I could have ever dreamed up—but he doesn’t give me a chance to be. His breath catches, and he presses closer, tongue tracing against the seam of my lips.
I open them without thinking, and the kiss deepens as I melt into him.
All I want is to get closer. In one motion, I wrap my hands behind his neck and swing my legs over the gearshift so I can settle myself in his lap. It’s an uncoordinated clamber, and he has to push his seat back to make room even as he tugs me closer, and I’m terrified I’ll accidentally honk the horn and wake up the whole neighborhood—but both of us are grasping for each other hungrily, too desperate for caution.
In the brief instant my eyes are open, I notice we’ve foggedup the windows of the car. Dawson’s gaze is on me, pupils blown, hair a total mess, breathing ragged.
I did that to him. Me, to Luke Dawson.
I bend my head to his again in something like triumph. His hands sneak under my shirt, searing against my skin. They bracket my waist, trace reverently around the curves of my hips. I grip his hair a little tighter as I hear myself gasp against his neck. No one’s ever touched me like this, and it’s overwhelming and exhilarating and I’m so exposed, like his fingers are reading dreams and desires I’ve always kept secret—but I’m glad it’s him.
