Page 33 of The Write Off

“Okay. This is happening,” she says, reaching up and putting both hands on my face. My mind registers the warmth of her hands as they pull my face down to meet hers. She pauses for the briefest of moments, her breath tickling my upper lip, before she raises herself on her tiptoes and presses her lips to mine.

It’s not the way I would have envisioned a first kiss. I don’t think anyone thinks of cold lips and the sound of thousands of cheering sports fans when they picture these things. But as she tilts her head to the side and deepens the kiss, the noise of the crowd and the feeling of cold fade away, replaced by heat and a rushing in my ears. My arms reach around her small waist that’s swimming in a men’s large jersey. The warmth of her mouth as it opens to mine spreads through my entire body. Our bodies press together, my labored breath matching her own. Her fingers weave into my hair like they belong there.

It feels remarkably right.

I’ve never been one for public displays of affection, but the idea that thousands of people are watching us kiss barely even registers.

I feel a hand on my shoulder. But wait, that can’t be. Rilla’s hands are in my hair, keeping my mouth on hers.

Then I hear the throat clear. Rilla must hear it too, because her mouth leaves mine and I feel her step away.

“They moved on to the next couple,” the middle aged guy in the seat directly behind us says. He’s accompanied by two giggling teenagers I assume are his daughters. They don’t look at us, either embarrassed by seeing us kiss for so long or the fact that their dad broke it up.

“Thanks,” Rilla tells him, not meeting my eye. “Just trying to give the people what they wanted.”

As we awkwardly turn our attention back to the ice, I check the “sexual chemistry” box on the spreadsheet in my head.

Chapter 16

Rilla

“Are you cold?”

After that kiss? I may never be cold ever again.

It’s a chilly night but I embrace the bite of the air, welcoming its cooling effect into my overheated flesh. From the moment his lips touched mine, I was on fire. Consumed by a kind of heat I’d never experienced before.

I’m no wallflower. I’ve kissed my fair share of guys; probably more than my fair share. Hell, I’ve kissed a few girls. And they were all fine. Some of them were even great. But they always felt like a warm up. The pregame handshake before the main event.

Kissing Logan had main event energy. Electromagnetic energy that I can still feel in my fingertips more than an hour later.

Not to mention other areas of my body.

“No, I’m fine.” I tucked my hands into the oversized jersey sleeves the moment we stepped outside the arena and so far, my makeshift mittens were doing their job. “I dressed in layers.”

Nice, Rilla. Men love to hear about how many clothes you are wearing.

You know what? Absolutely not. I’m not about to start filtering my speech to tell people what they want to hear. I don’t dress for the male gaze and I refuse to speak for the male ear. I decide to double down.

“It’s a thermal underwear set. They’re designed for hikers and snowboarders. A wool-blend, I think. I could probably climb a mountain right now, if I wanted to.”

He continues to look straight ahead, but I see the corner of his mouth lift. “I have no doubt.”

Even though we arrived separately, Logan offered to walk me home. I’ve tried to quicken my pace so he doesn’t need to take smaller strides, but my efforts have left me a bit winded. At least I think that’s what is causing my breathlessness.

We’ll be at my door in less than ten minutes and I find myself dreading arriving at our destination. I think I like hanging out with Logan. No, I’m sure of it. How did that happen? When did he become something other than a grumpy pain in my ass?

My stomach growls loud enough for him to hear. I’m pretty sure people visiting the Expedition 1 space station heard that.

“You’re still hungry?” The man did watch me eat two hot dogs and a soft pretzel not two hours ago. Not that I was particularly hungry, I just get snacky when I’m riled up.

Tonight was fun, but it was also total and complete agony. It was like being suspended in limbo, which for a person that likes to know where they stand, it may as well be hell. Three hours later and I’m no closer to knowing if this was a date or not.

“I’m always hungry, Logan. I’m basically a Hobbit. I’ve got to get my seven meals a day.”

He gives me that blank look again.

“You know,” I continue, counting on my fingers, “Breakfast, second breakfast, elevensies, luncheon, afternoon tea, dinner, and supper?”

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