24
A unt Mei always says, “The first time is happenstance, the second is coincidence, but the third is a pattern. It’s deliberate.”
It feels deliberate, the way my lips brush against his, featherlight and tentative. Our breath melds, and it takes me a couple seconds to realize he isn’t pulling away.
But he’s also not actively kissing me back either.
Alarm bells sound in my head, and I pull back abruptly. “I’m so sorry,” I blurt over the band’s cover of “Everybody Wants to Rule the World.” “I shouldn’t have done that.”
His lips twitch ever so slightly, but his expression remains unreadable. I expect his face to contort in that particular grimace; it usually appears when something grosses him out. But it doesn’t. The pads of his fingers brush against my cheek, moving aside a strand of hair. With the precision of a surgeon, he gently tucks it behind my ear. His knuckles ghost the crests of my cheeks, eliciting a shiver.
I don’t know who, but one of us closes the gap. Our lips touch and it’s soft, undemanding, lighting me up like the tiniest pinpricks of static shock. Then we pull away and just look at each other for a moment. I silently count to three. Just after I hit two, his mouth meets mine. His kiss is achingly soft and slow, like he wants to take his time. There is no mistake: Teller Owens is kissing me back.
I wasn’t prepared for what his kiss would feel like. I feel it in every part of my body, all the way to my toes. Our kissing becomes deeper, more urgent, like we’re both desperate to release the tension that’s been brewing all these years. He kisses me like I’m already his, like I’ve always been his. Like we always should have been doing this. And it’s everything.
His tongue swirls against mine, filling me with a deep ache in the core of my stomach. His hands rake through my hair as I breathe in his fresh-cut-grass scent.
I’ve never had a better kiss. Ever.
“Wait a minute ... I didn’t think nice boys kissed like that,” I say when he pulls away.
His brow flicks wickedly. “ Oh yes, they fucking do. ”
I’m not sure if it’s that he knows the quote from Bridget Jones’s Diary , but I’ve never been so turned on. I tug him back toward me immediately.
We meld together, firmer this time. It takes me by surprise. I expected kissing Teller would be soft, slow, and steady, just like everything he does. But it’s anything but.
In all the commotion, we’ve drifted into the corner of the courtyard, nearing the wall. He pins me against the brick and kisses me like we’re star-crossed lovers reuniting after years of anguished separation. It’s fast and intense, igniting me from the inside out. With each gasp and slide of our tongues, we make clear how much we’ve wanted this. He threads his fingers through my hair, and a low, sensual moan escapes him.
Since when is Teller Owens so unbelievably hot ?
I inhale as he pulls me flush to his chest, absorbing the solid weight of him against me. His fingers trace the soft skin of my hips under my shirt. I rock against him.
When my hands drift to his waistband, his hand presses over mine.
I feel the heat from his mouth and I pull in a breath, waiting for his lips to touch mine again. But they don’t. They hover, like a whisper, just close enough but not quite closing the gap. My heart pounds the longer our breath mingles.
I roam his face for any sign of discomfort, but he looks at ease. His eyes meet mine in a look I’m not sure I’ve ever seen. He’s no longer the sweet Teller I know. He looks like someone who knows what he wants and is going to take it.
Abruptly, Nettie and Loraine peel around the corner to catch their ride back. I’ve never been so grateful for an interruption.