Page 38 of Cade

I turned to look at him, if only to say thank you again, make my exit. But I stopped frozen underneath his gem-like gaze, my gaze dipping to his pouty, perfect lips. I noticed a smidge of barbecue sauce in the corner of his mouth, and the innate desire in me to lick it off of him made me realize I was truly in over my head.

As if he could sense my sudden inkling, he reached out to brush some of my hair behind my ear, his voice dropping an octave.

“I think I’d like that, Cade,” he said softly.

Instinctively, I leaned into him, against his chest. Suddenly, I felt dizzy and I knew it wasn’t from the lunch or the sun.

Weston moved closer, his free hand settling at my hip, his palm warm against me.

I looked up at him for a moment, readying myself for what felt like the most right thing in the world.

Weston licked his lips, his eyes searching mine.

My eyelids fluttered, and I leaned in just an inch, expecting him to meet me halfway.

To kiss me like they do in the movies.

His fingers gripped my hair as he brought his forehead to mine, letting out a sigh.

“I had a really great time today, Cade. With you,” he whispered.

“Same,” I whispered back.

“But all good things must come to an end, and we must return to our dreadful nemesis. Employment.”

At that moment, I realized he wasn’t going to kiss me.

And why should he?

It was a date, and we had fun, but...

He was right. The real world beckoned us, popping our perfect little Bernard’s Bubble.

“Right,” I said as I licked my lips, nodding in understanding.

“Will, uh... talk later?” I asked, feeling the nerves starting to kick up again.

Weston slid his fingers down my jaw, resting his hand on my collarbone. He implored me with deep, sorrowful eyes.

“Absolutely,” he said as he slid his hand off my neck, turning away and heading for a car that I realized had been sitting in front of us since we’d exited.

Must be his driver.

I watched as Weston languidly folded himself into the backseat, as he closed the door and sped off.

I’d wanted him to kiss me. To sweep me off my small town feet and whisk me away to his Christmas Tree farm or Italian Villa or whatever it is that men like him had in those cheesy movies.

But that wasn’t the realization that shocked me, no.

I was always the one who wished to be kissed, to be swept off their feet.

But in that moment, before he set his hand on my hip, before he tugged me closer, I realized I wanted to kiss him.

I wanted to crush my lips to his and bring him into me tenfold, wrap my arms around him and soothe his tired, achy heart.

I wanted to be his prince charming, come to save him from all the assholes.

And I’d missed my chance.

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