Page 25 of Hazel and Elijah Find Out: First They F*cked Around

“You ride a motorcycle?” I generally found motorcycles to be reckless death machines, but the idea of him on one surfaced a sexual awakening fromGrease 2I hadn’t realized was still relevant.

He scoffed, “My bicycle.”

Laughing, I covered my mouth. “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t want to say; I’m already being supremely uncool.”

“Where is it?”

He grimaced at the black iron beams of the ceiling. “My mom has it.”

I hid my face in his shoulder as the humor took over. The sounds I was making couldn’t even be called laughter anymore; it was more like cackling.

“You rode your bike here,” I yelled into the soft fabric of his flannel. It wasn’t funny… I knew it wasn’t funny. A bicycle was a completely reasonable form of transportation, but still, I couldn’t stop laughing.

His finger hooked under my chin, urging it up. Three wrinkles were drawn from the corners of his eyes, and parentheses were etched at both sides of his smile. A tender heat grew in my chest, wrapping around my heart and easing into my stomach, pleasant and soft. Unlike the all-consuming smolder he’d made me feel in the past, this was something new. Gentle. Sustainable.

“The woman I like asked me to be here, so I’m here,” he stated.

“You’re here because of me?”

“I am in thistownbecause of you.”

The distance between our mouths was closing in imperceptible increments.

“No way,” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“No.” I shook my head, brushing his lips for the barest second.

“Yes.” He nodded, nudging my nose with his. His fingers weaved into the hair at the base of my skull.

And then we were kissing.

And I was falling—tumbling, reeling. Head over heels into a pool I hadn’t even realized I was dipping my toe in.

His lips were smooth and soft, and his hold on me was firm. My fingertips trailed down his neck to grip the collar of his shirt, the back of my knuckles against his clavicle. I felt the vibrations of his groaned moan more than heard it as he pulled me against him and deepened the kiss. Tilting his head, he ran his tongue along the inside of my lips. And I was fully immersed in the smell of his skin—that scent I couldn’t place, but reminded me of campfires, and staying up too late, and hot nights under the stars. I couldn’t get enough of his taste, the lingering hoppy notes from the beer he drank under the inexplicably sweet taste of his mouth.

I’d heard of this, but I’d never experienced it. Someone who just appealed to every single one of my senses. Maybe it was a pheromone or a gift from god that made him so delicious to me, but I didn’t care. I wanted more. I wanted to feel him closer, tighter. I wanted to smell every inch of his skin. I wanted to run my hands down his stomach. I wanted to bite into the flesh of his deltoid as I wrapped myself around him.

Someone bumped our table, and we startled, both of us gasping for air. Somehow, I’d ended up on his lap, and our sweet little kiss had grown into something barely appropriate, even for this dimly lit bar.

His erection strained against the pant leg of his jeans. The skirt of my dress would have been up to my waist if he hadn’t held on to it in both fists, keeping it in place at the top of my thighs.

Hiding my blushing face in his neck, I lowered to the booth next to him. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah.” He shielded his face with his hand, and only I could see his baffled smile. His chest bounced against my cheek.

“Oh good, you came up for air,” Nora said, scooting into the booth across from us.

I ignored her, but Elijah snorted.

“Are you getting a ride from me or him?” Her face twisted in distaste. “I hate the way I asked that.”

I rolled my eyes. “Classy.”

Elijah shook his head. “You’ll have to take her home. I’ll pick you up for a date tomorrow.”

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