Page 90 of Nothing Like the Movies

“But I said—”

“Wes.” She set her forehead on mine, her tone soothing as her gentle fingers warmed my skin. Her voice was sweet and breathy, a melatonin cloud, as she insisted, “You need to forgive yourself for whatever this is, okay?”

I felt a little lightheaded as I closed my eyes.

I’d never forgive myself.

I opened my eyes and lingered, reveling in Liz’s hands on my face, her forehead on mine. She was right there, with me, my Libby.

I raised my hands and pushed back her hair, sliding all ten fingers into the soft, thick curls that always smelled like freesia. She was watching me with damp eyes, her lips sweet and soft, and the magnitude of my longing was like a punch to the solar plexus.

“Lib,” I whispered, lowering my head and kissing away a tear. I could feel her long, jagged inhalation as I tilted her head with my hands, as I went back for the tear on her other cheek.

My hands were shaking as I slid them lower, so my palms were on her warm throat, my fingers buried underneath the back of her hair. She didn’t move, didn’t speak; we were in slow-motion quicksand, and the only thing I knew was that we were about to kiss. Liz’s eyes dipped down to my mouth, and I was done fighting it.

Need flamed up like sizzling oil on a dancing flame.

Her fingertips tightened on my jaw as I lowered my mouth to hers.

But just as our lips touched, I remembered.

She had a boyfriend.

Why does she have to have a boyfriend?

I wanted to ignore it so damn badly, to put it out of my head and slide into the only thing I’d ever needed. I wanted to forget that everyone and everything existed except for my mouth and Liz Buxbaum.

Especially when those green eyes slid shut.

Every molecule in my body buzzed, and every cell came alive as I felt the softness of her sigh and the offering of her mouth.

My entire existence roared to attention and wanted so damn badly.

DearLord, it hurt to want that much.

My heart was pounding in my chest as I forced myself not to be an asshole.

“Thank you, Lib,” I whispered against her lips, selfishly dragging my teeth over her bottom lip for a split second before pulling back. I couldn’t kiss her, not now, but I was too starved for a bite not to steal a sample.

Her eyes fluttered open, and the expectation in her gaze was torture, so much that I had to close my eyes for a second if I was going to be strong enough to resist being a prick.

One, two, three.

I dropped a barely there peck on her lips, a soft brush that wasmore of a breath than a kiss, and it didn’t make sense the way it brought the tightness back to my throat and made something in my chest pinch so hard it burned.

It wasn’t even a kiss.

“Of course,” she whispered, a tiny wrinkle in her forehead as she looked up at me, anddammitI could still feel the fullness of her lower lip between my teeth. Missing her was normal, like my default nowadays, but the way I felt—as I pushed the hair away from her face and stared into her eyes—was like missing her, but to the nth degree.

“I don’t deserve you, what you did for me,” I said, my fingers sliding through her silky curls. “After everything.”

“I didn’t do anyth—”

“Yes, you did,” I said, watching my hands as they slipped through her hair.

“I woke you from a bad dream,” she said in a near-whisper, closing her eyes and leaning into my touch, offering up her hair to my hands. “That’s all.”

“Lib,” I said. “It was a lot more than that.”

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