21. Maisie #2
I keep talking. It’s easier than letting him say anything else. If I keep going, maybe I won’t have to hear the words I already know are coming.
“You were happy about the grade and you got caught up. I get it. I mean…” I force out a short laugh. “I didn’t exactly expect my first kiss to go like that, but?—”
He jerks back like I slapped him. “Wait… What?”
My mouth snaps shut.
Oh no.
I feel the blood drain from my face, then rush back all at once, burning across my cheeks, down my neck, flooding me with heat and panic.
He’s staring at me, eyes wide, completely stunned. “That was… that was your first kiss?”
Shit .
I try to look away, but the weight of his gaze is like a spotlight. I feel small. Stupid. Like I just revealed something I shouldn’t have. Like I gave him one more reason to look at me differently.
“Yeah.”
He blinks, like he still doesn’t believe it. “Your first?”
“Mhm.”
God, this is so embarrassing. Why did I say that? Why couldn’t I just lie, or change the subject, or bite my tongue for once in my life?
He shakes his head slowly. “How?”
I stare at my hands, digging my thumbnail into my palm until it stings.
Because I’ve never been the girl someone wanted to kiss. That’s how. Because no one’s ever looked at me that way.
I let out a breath, lifting my shoulder in a shrug. “I don’t know. Just… happened. Or didn’t, I should say.”
I glance up and I can see it on his face—the guilt, the surprise, the way he’s putting it all together.
And I hate it.
I hate the way he’s looking at me now, like I’m some kind of delicate thing he accidentally dropped.
Like he regrets all of it.
He rubs both hands over his face, dragging them down slowly. “ Fuck . Maisie, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I repeat, swallowing the rock lodged in my throat.
“No, it’s not,” he says sharply, dropping his hands. “If you’ve been holding out this long, it’s because it meant something to you. Because you pictured it going a certain way. Or with someone else. Someone better. And I just—” He breaks off, jaw clenched. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”
“Don’t say that,” I murmur, and before I can second-guess it, I reach out and place my hand over his.
His skin is warm. Calloused. Solid beneath mine. He stills, like I’ve startled him, like maybe he wasn’t expecting me to touch him at all.
His fingers tense beneath mine, but he doesn’t pull away. Neither do I.
I don’t even breathe. My pulse stutters, and I’m so aware of him—his hand under mine, his scent, the tiny space between us that suddenly feels too small and too big all at once.
His eyes meet mine, dark and warm and swimming with guilt. They’re so pretty and so soft it almost hurts to look at him.
He blinks once. Then again, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. My eyes catch the motion like a hook, holding there for a beat too long.
Then his gaze drops to my mouth.
“How did you picture it?” he asks.
I blink. “What?”
“Your first kiss,” he says, his eyes lifting to mine. “How did you picture it?”
My stomach twists. I wasn’t expecting him to ask that, or to care.
I shift a little on the bed, the blanket tugging under my legs, and I let out a small breath.
“I don’t know,” I say, even though I do.
Of course I do. I’ve thought about it more times than I care to admit.
“I guess… maybe after a date. He’d walk me home.
It would be quiet. Sweet. He’d ask first. I’d say yes. Maybe my foot would pop a little.”
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Your foot would pop?”
My brows tug together, feeling the heat creep onto my face. “It’s a thing.”
He chuckles, and I hate that it makes my heart ache. Because I want to keep hearing that sound.
The flush on my face deepens and I glance down at our hands again.
“You know what? Never mind,” I mutter, pulling my hand back slowly. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
He runs a hand through his hair again, his laugh fading. His gaze drops to my mouth again, longer this time. A muscle in his jaw ticks. I watch the way he swallows, like he’s holding something back.
“Let me make it right.”
My heart stutters. “What?”
His eyes lift to mine. “Let me take you out. Give you the real foot-popping kiss you imagined.”
I blink again, because I’m not sure I heard him right.
Did he really just say that?
My breath gets stuck somewhere in my chest, and I can’t quite seem to get it out. My brain is scrambling to make sense of his words, but it’s like they don’t compute. Like they don’t belong in a world where Austin Rhodes says stuff like that to me.
He can’t be serious.
“Austin.” I shake my head, already trying to backtrack. “You don’t have to do that just because you feel bad.”
Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? Guilt. Pity. A knee-jerk reaction to something he never meant to happen. A moment he regrets.
“I’m not doing it because I feel bad,” he says, his voice low and raspy, making my skin break out into goosebumps. “I’m doing it because I want to.”
My stomach flips, fluttering like crazy.
He moves closer. Barely. But enough that his knee brushes mine. Just the lightest touch. So light I could pretend it didn’t happen if I wanted to. But I don’t want to.
He places his hand on mine and moves his thumb. Just once. A slow, gentle sweep across the back of my hand.
He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it—until he glances down. And then he does it again. Slow. Soft. Over and over.
I don’t want to move. Don’t want to breathe wrong and shatter whatever is happening.
My heart is pounding like crazy. I can’t look away from him, and I don’t know how to say what’s building inside me. That part of me wants to trust this. Wants to believe him.
Even if it’s not real, I want to know what it’s like. Just once. To go on a date. To feel wanted. To pretend, just for one night, that someone like Austin could want me.
But the other part—the louder one—won’t stop whispering that I’m reading it wrong. That I always read it wrong.
Still, I nod. “Okay,” I whisper.
His smile blooms, his perfect teeth flashing. Those dimples pop and it’s so unfair how good he looks when he smiles like that.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his thumb still brushing my hand.
“Yeah.”
He lets out a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then he leans in just a little closer. “I’m gonna give you the best damn foot-popping kiss in history.”
I try to roll my eyes, but it’s useless. The corners of my mouth curl up against my will.
Because for the first time in a long time, I want to believe it.
Even though I know I shouldn’t.