Page 33 of Wish You Would

I nodded, even though I was nowhere near ready.

In the blink of an eye, the concentration on Gigi’s face morphed into a coy smile. She angled her body toward mine. The part of my brain that knew this wasn’t real, that she was in teacher mode, faltered. My mouth went dry. I balled my fists at my waist and forced myself to stay put. To not bolt, to not move closer—either of which were equally likely in this moment.

Tilting her head, Gigi dragged a slow gaze up my body. “I love your shirt,” she said, voice warm. “Supernatural, right?”

I nodded again. Jesus. When had I become a bobble head?

“Use your words,” she murmured when I didn’t speak. “Talk to me.”

My head bobbled again. I winced. “Sorry. Yeah,” I started, my voice wobbly. Clearing my throat, I tried again. “It-it’s my favorite show.”

“Right on.” She nodded, eyes wide, alight with interest. “I’ve only seen a few episodes.” Lifting her hand, she twirled a piece of vibrant red-orange hair around her finger. “Maybe we could watch it together sometime?”

“I…” My brain short-circuited as she looked at me like I strung the stars, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, as she awaited my answer. The logic part knew this was pretend. Part of the lesson. But the delusion-addled part of my brain latched onto the idea of Gigi and I, on the couch, watching my favorite show. Maybe snuggled up together. Maybe underneath the same blanket. Maybe…

“Hellooo.” Gigi waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Parker.”

I blinked and shook my head. “Sorry,” I said. “I guess the late-night baking is catching up to me.”

Concern dipped her brows. “Do you want to wrap this up?” She laid an arm on my shoulder. “So you can get some sleep?”

“No, no.” I shook my head more vehemently than necessary and smiled. “I’m okay.”

Eyes narrowed, she looked me over. “You sure? Because we can do this some other—”

“I’m sure.” I said it too quickly. Was too eager. But if Gigi noticed, she didn’t say. Giving me one more once-over, she nodded. “Okay.”

Relief poured through me. I sighed. “Okay.” Shaking the tension out of my limbs, I re-assumed the position Gigi had put me in moments earlier. Be approachable, I told myself. Confident.

For a couple heartbeats, we were silent, the space between us laden with something I couldn’t identify.

“Pop quiz,” Gigi finally murmured into the quiet, taking a step forward. Holding my surprised gaze, she leaned closer, one elbow on the counter, torso tilted toward mine. “What…is my body language telling you right now?”

I dragged a breath into my lungs, bringing the scent of her with it. God, she smelled good. Like a beach bonfire at midnight. My body thrummed like a generator in a power outage. Her eyes, two pools of melted dark chocolate, held mine, and something in them made me bold.

I leaned against the counter, too, letting our arms brush. “I think,” I whispered, looking her over in a slow, careful study. My heart pounded so hard I was sure she could hear it. “I think,” I said again, gaze catching on her lips. Full and pink, free of lipstick for once. “You want me.”

As soon as the words left my lips, the air between us shifted. Like a crackle of lightning in a dry field.

“Yeah,” Gigi whispered, and I watched her mouth form the words. “I do.”

I pulled my gaze away from her lips to find her watching me, brows furrowed, eyes intense. My next breath lodged in my throat. I was sure I’d never breathe again until she kissed me. Until she breathed her life into my lungs.

“I think you’re ready for the next lesson.”

I licked my lips and nodded. “I think I am.”

Her eyes zoomed in on my mouth and I waited, burning and breathless, for her to close the distance. To press her lips to mine. To—

“Touch,” she said, voice husky and low. She lifted her hand and I watched in my periphery as she closed the distance between us. “When a person’s body language tells you they’re interested, you’ll want to encourage the flirtation by…touching them.” As she finished, her hand rested against my upper arm. A soft touch, but I felt it to my marrow.

“Just a light touch,” she continued. “Casual. Something that says, I’d like to explore this further.”

I looked down at her hand, its dark polish glittering in the light, and cursed the cotton barrier between us. “What’s next?”

“Well, that depends on how they respond.” Her voice was tight now, as if she, too, was fighting this pull between us. “If they’re receptive, then…”

“Then?” I prompted, lungs about to burst from holding my breath.

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