Page 27 of The Dating Pact

“Thank you.” She blinked slowly, throat bobbing on a swallow. “That was good. Really good. Holding on to my shoulder to keep me close while touching the necklace. It’s an excuse for your fingers to be close to my chest. Very, very nice.”

I dipped my chin, remembering myself. We were pretending. “So, uh…” I cleared my throat. “What now?”

She eased closer to me. “I guess it depends. You have to look for signs.”

“Like what?”

She placed her hand on my thigh, a few inches above my knee. An example of a sign. A green light.

I turned more toward her, bringing my left knee up on the couch, confessing, “I feel like a kid again. Trying to figure everything out.”

“That’s okay.” She urged me on, leaning into me, both of her hands my legs. “What did you do when you were a kid? Might work now,” she said with a half laugh, and I thought back.

Fought through the haze of this new and puzzling desire creeping into my chest.

I remembered what it was like, standing outside of school on that day Mira finally said yes to me. I told Brooke, “I asked to kiss her.”

She nodded encouragingly. “That’s good. You could do that.”

So I did. “Can I kiss you?”

She nodded again, her gaze on my mouth, and I didn’t know which way was up anymore. I had no idea what I was doing. But I kissed her.

I kissed Brooke.

She squeaked out a surprised sound, ripping her hands away from me, and I immediately apologized. “Sorry. I didn’t…” I shook my head, trying to center myself, but I had trouble. Especially with how my hands had involuntarily curled around both of her shoulders. “I got…confused.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her cheeks pink. “No, it’s fine. It’s… I was surprised. But I can do better.”

I slanted my head back. “You can do better?”

She shifted onto her knees, nodding. “Kiss me.”

“You want me to kiss you?” I repeated then wiped my palms down my face.

How high was she?

How high was I?

“I want you to kiss me,” she said, and I could only blame my immediate reaction on the marijuana.

Because I kissed her again.

This time, she met me halfway, and I held her face in my hands. There was no surprise, no confusion. We were kissing.

She still tasted sweet like the chocolate of her brownie sundae when she opened her lips to me, allowing my tongue to find hers. I should have been reluctant or uncomfortable. This was the first woman I’d kissed in years, and yet all I felt was interest and awe and a need for more.

She smoothed her hands up either side of my ribs to my back, settling underneath my shoulder blades. The gentle weight of her palms urged me forward, and I followed. Or led.

I didn’t understand the choreography of this new dance, yet I liked it. I knew that much.

And suddenly, we were horizontal, with more than enough room on this sofa that was entirely too comfortable, leaving me with no excuse to move from this position with my friend. With her hands searching under my T-shirt for my bare skin, I kissed down her throat, diligent about sucking on her skin hard enough to change her breath, but soft enough that I wouldn’t leave a mark.

Then she wrapped her legs around my waist, and I settled my weight against her. In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Do you want to keep going?” she asked breathlessly and possibly a little hopeful.

I held myself up above her, my hands on either side of her head, studying her for an indication she wanted to stop.

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