Page 86 of Misfortune and Mr. Right

“I know,” she says. “I know.”

And then her other hand reaches up and rests on my opposite cheek, so she’s cupping my face. She gives the slightest tug and pulls my face toward hers.

I lean in, placing my hand behind her neck.

Our foreheads gently come together. Her breath is still shallow and quick. I feel my heartbeat race, threatening to thump out of my chest.

“Are you going to kiss me, Alexander?” Olivia whispers into the space between us.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” I tease her.

She smiles and our eyes connect.

Olivia’s thumbs trace the stubble on my cheeks as her hands grip my face.

I run a hand through her hair, wrapping my other arm behind her back and tugging her toward me. Our noses brush. I watch her eyes flutter shut. I close mine, breathing into the space between us.

We’ll never have another first kiss. I’m both eager and hesitant. Nervous and exhilarated.

I lean toward her and I brush my lips carefully across hers. It’s the faintest of caresses.

I briefly open my eyes. Olivia’s are still shut. She hums, and a soft smile breaks across her face. I kiss each eyelid and then align my mouth with hers and kiss her again. This time, I don’t brush past her. Our mouths connect, tender and reverent. Her hands leave my cheeks, and she runs her fingers through my hair. Her hands rest on my shoulders, gripping me as our kiss builds. This kiss has been brewing for at least fourteen years. All the passion and fire we usually reserve for our rivalry has found its way into this kiss. She’s leveling me.

“I knew it,” Olivia says between kisses.

“What’s that?” I ask, kissing her cheek, dragging my lips toward her neck.

She shudders and collapses slightly into me.

“You kiss like you do everything else.”

I chuckle softly, bringing my mouth back to hers. We kiss again.

“And how do I do everything else?”

“Perfectly,” she says with a sigh. And then she’s kissing me again.

She pulls back, running her pointer finger along the center of my brow line and across each eyebrow.

“These,” she says, “are very deceptive.”

I look at her sideways, pressing gently on her back with my palm to remind her she’s still in my arms.

“How so?” I ask.

“You raise them when you know you’re right.”

“Do I?”

“And it makes you seem more self-righteous than you are.”

I purposely pull them down into a furrow, and she giggles.

“All this time,” she nearly whispers. “You were right here.”

“But I chased you away.” I confess the truth of my inadvertent actions.

I search her eyes, running the back of my hand along her hairline and down her cheek.

---