“I really want to kiss you, Sidra,” I said, leaning against the door frame, inches from her mouth.
“Okay.” She blushed, but smiled.
“But I can’t.”
“Oh,” she said, frowning.
Wow. Honesty was not turning out to be the best policy.
“No, it’s just that I want to talk to you about something first because I don’t want you to feel like I’m using you.”
“It’s complicated. I was thinking maybe—tomorrow.” It would have to be tomorrow. Trace would just have to deal with it being tomorrow. If she cancelled out on our date after tomorrow—then so be it.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
It was a fair question. Why was I telling her this?
“Because when I walk back to my car without kissing you, I didn’t want you to think that I was doing it because I wanted to. It’s killing me.” I shoved my hands into my pockets just to not touch her. Her hair was close, and it looked soft, and I wanted to put my hands into her hair and kiss her and taste her mouth and....
“What if I kissed you?” she asked.
My first clear thought was that she was a genius. “That would be okay.” Okay was such a lame word for what it would be. It would be freaking fantastic.
She tipped forward and closed her eyes. If I took that final inch, I hoped she didn’t notice.
Her mouth was soft and sweet, and she tasted like ice cream and everything I’ve ever wanted. I clenched my hands into fists to avoid pulling her head closer so I could slip my tongue into her mouth and really taste her.
It was over too soon. As she pulled away, a nervous laugh skipped out of her mouth. “That was—uhh….”
What? It felt better than anything I’d ever felt before.
“Good,” she said finally.
“Yes, it was.”