Chapter Thirty-Five #3
“I’m sorry, Lillian,” he said, taking a slow step toward me.
“I know I hurt you when I said I didn’t feel anything.
Believe me—it hurt to say it.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“I shouldn’t have said it. Not like that.
Not to you.” He exhaled, eyes softening as they searched mine.
“And I won’t deny that I am absolutely infatuated by you, your beauty, your.
..everything. Painfully infatuated, actually.
But it doesn’t compare to how I feel about you.
I mean,” he continued, voice dipping, “as pathetic as it sounds, I’m pretty sure you struck a match in my heart the moment I saw you spying on me through a pair of binoculars like a psycho stalker. ”
My jaw dropped, breath catching somewhere between horror and disbelief. “You saw me?”
He laughed loudly—really laughed, head tilted back, eyes crinkling, the sound bright enough to make my skin prickle. “The whole restaurant saw you.”
“Oh my God.” My cheeks went hot. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” he said, grinning. “Next time you want to scope out the guy you’re about to have a blind date with, maybe don’t be so obvious about it. Kind of defeats the whole covert surveillance vibe.”
I groaned, covering my face. “I can’t believe this. I thought I was being subtle.”
“The binoculars were a nice touch,” he said lightly. “Gave off a strong ‘local neighborhood creep’ aesthetic. I almost called the police. But then you walked in and started insulting me, and I had to pretend I hated you on principle.”
I dropped my hands, glaring at him through a mortified smile. “You did hate me.”
“No. I was just trying really hard not to like you. You were sitting there, dressed in that ridiculous, sparkly lady suit, and being incredibly loud and rude. What was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe not insult me back?”
He took another step forward, the humor in his eyes melting. “I was doomed the second you pretended not to hear me say vegan.”
I groaned again, half-laughing now. “Please stop talking.”
“You know, for someone who claims to hate me, you made quite the impression. I remember thinking, ‘this woman could ruin me.’”
“And you let me,” I said.
He met my gaze, the teasing fading into something truer. “No,” he said. “I think I wanted you to.”
He was in front of me now, his hand finding mine. My pulse leapt against my wrist where his thumb brushed a steady drag.
“You said you couldn’t,” I whispered, “because you’d end up hurting me.”
“I meant that.”
“So what changed? You don’t care about hurting me anymore?”
“I care,” he said. “I don’t want to hurt you.” His fingers slid to my cheek, tracing the outline of my face tenderly. “But I think trying to stay away from you is just hurting us both.”
He said it so simply, like it was a fact. Like all the sleepless nights of avoidance, and arguments, and near-touches had led us here, to this tiny, impossible collision.
“My perfect, adorably unhinged girl,” he murmured, skimming my jaw with the tip of his nose. “I wish I could breathe you in until there’s nothing left of me that isn’t yours.”
My brain tried to catch up. My vocal cords tried to form a response. Neither succeeded. What the hell was I supposed to say to that? But then he pressed his lips against mine, saving me from having to come up with a reply.
When we kissed last night, it was in the chaotic heat of the moment—all heavy breathing, desperate grabs, sharp edges and bad decisions.
I didn’t have time to think because my mind had turned into a mushy pile of pent-up desire, and I’d been operating purely on adrenaline, stupidity, and maybe a little dehydration.
This was different.
I’d just said I hate you. He’d just said I love you. My mind was still a semi-mushy pile of desire, but the other half was very much aware that Khalifa’s mouth—his smug, infuriatingly calm, only-capable-of-dry-wit-and-sarcasm but still deliciously warm mouth—was on mine.
And before I could overthink it, I was kissing him back.
Probably too fast, too eager, too terrible at it, and with a sound that could only be described as embarrassingly appreciative, but I didn’t care.
Our noses bumped, our teeth did too, and we both sort of laughed into it before the laughter dissolved into something reckless and urgent.
My hands fumbled up to his hair, his hands slid down to my waist, gripping me so tightly like he was afraid I’d pull away, which was ridiculous, because pulling away was the last thing on my mind.
The kiss deepened, slow and sure this time, like he wanted to rewrite the first one—to show me what it could feel like when it wasn’t born out of frustration, but out of choice.
When he finally drew back, just enough for our foreheads to touch, his lips captured mine one last time. “You taste like artificial strawberries.”
I blinked at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “It’s my lip balm,” I said breathlessly. “I’d offer you some, but—” I tilted my chin, smirking. “Looks like mine transferred just fine.”
I swiped at the corner of his now shimmery mouth, and he laughed, all warm and throaty, making my stomach hiccup. Before I could retreat, he bit the tip of my finger lightly, teasing.
“Sorry, I forgot you have a sugar problem.”
His grin curved. “You’re the only sweet thing I’ll happily be addicted to.”
I groaned. “That’s disgustingly corny, Professor.”
“I know,” he said, and the humor in his tone gave way to something heavier, almost fragile. “Do you really love me, Lillian?”
I nodded, a little dazed, a little dizzy, my heart trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“Say it again,” he pleaded.
“I love you, Khalifa.”
He exhaled slowly, the tension melting out of him. His thumb brushed my slightly swollen bottom lip, and then he leaned close again, his breath a shiver against my skin.
“I’ll be so good to you, Lillian,” he whispered. “I swear I’ll love you better than anyone else ever could.”
You already do rested right on the tip of my tongue, intimate and traitorous and dangerously sincere. But I didn’t release the words, mostly because at that exact moment his other hand had wandered from my waist to the seam of my jeans, popping the button open with an effortless flick.
We never did make it to that indoor picnic.