Page 74 of Do You Ship It

‘Just because we called a truce –’

He scowls. ‘Cerys, I don’t know how many ways I have to explain it for you to understand. I thought we were on the same page, here.’

‘Oh, yeah? And what page is that?’ I snap, but it’s a serious question. Just because I understand where he was coming from being all judgemental, and he knows I was jealous of his friendship with Jake, just because wetalked…

I’m shivering, teeth gritted and beginning to chatter, and he’s near enough that he angles himself between me and the draft from the open doors, his hand on my arm, rubbing it up and down.

It takes me back to the Worlds Beyond con, how I didn’t bring a jacket because I wanted Jake to offer me his.

‘Listen,’ he tells me. ‘Jake is not going to –’

‘Why do you care so much, if something upsets me?’ I bite out. I want to know,needto know all of a sudden, but I also really need to not hear the end of that sentence. Jake is not going to – what, ditch me, forget about me, ever be interested in dating me?

‘Because,’ Max says, visibly frustrated, shifting a bit closer. The hand on my arm has stilled, holding me rather than warming me up, although the heat of his palm is searing, sending prickles all through my body.His jaw is clenched, his breathing heavy and shallow. Mine is, too. Has been for … I don’t know how long. ‘Because –’

I never get to hear the end of that sentence, either.

I think I realize what’s happening the split-second before it actually happens, because my chin ticks upward and I inhale his exhale sharply, lips parting, before his mouth crashes down on to mine.

My mind eddies, void of everything but the sensation of being kissed, of kissing, of the body against mine and the silk-soft hair between my fingers when I drag my hands up to anchor him closer. My nostrils fill with a sharp, clean scent like pine; the hand on my arm slips to settle between my shoulder blades and the other rests on my hip, the grip tight and trembling, just like my arms around his shoulders are.

I’ve kissed boys before. Three, to be exact. One at a party when I got a bit tipsy – sloppy and only half-remembered the day after; one behind the bike sheds at school when I was fourteen and we were supposed to be on litter-picking duty – not worth remembering; and one fleeting peck on the lips on a date when I was thirteen that might as well not really count.

I have never been kissed like this before. I have neverkissedlike this before.

I always assumed I would have to think so intentlyabout every part of a kiss like this: how our lips fit together, careful not to knock teeth, hyperconscious of where I put my hands and where his are and if our noses are in the way and how to move my lips and to remember to breathe (do I always breathe this loudly and weirdly?) … And trying to figure out the right pressure, or if it’s appropriate to add tongue andwhento add tongue, and a million other things the movies never quite explain.

But this isn’t like that. At all.

It justhappens.

Max’s mouth is soft and urgent against mine, and when his teeth catch my lower lip ever so slightly I gasp, and test how he responds when I drag the tip of my tongue just a little overhislip.

I knot my fingers tighter in his hair, vaguely aware of the fact I’ve stumbled –stumbled,like my knees have actually, genuinely, gone weak. The foot-pop moment inThe Princess Diariesis suddenly making total sense to me. The wall is now at my back, and I’m very content to be pressed between it and Max if it means this kiss.

We break apart to catch our breath. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes as dark as his hair. I’ve messed up his bun, he’s all dishevelled now, and his lips are full and bright and his cheeks are flushed, and I wonder if I look like that, too. I bet I do.

I want to kiss him again.

‘Cerys,’ he murmurs, ‘I –’

I drag one of my hands through the silken waves of his hair, bringing it to settle against his shoulder, and that’s when I notice them.

Him.

All thoughts of resuming our kiss (andoh my GOD, that KISS!And also,oh my God, I kissed MAX!)go up in smoke because Jake is standing in the open doorway, face ashen, mouth hanging open as he stares at us.

There are tears in his eyes.

He doesn’t look like he just caught some of his mates snogging at a party, he looks like he’s been stabbed in the back.

No no no, this isnothappening.

Max clocks me looking over his shoulder – my expression must shift, but I don’t know what he finds there. Guilt? Horror? Regret? All of the above, probably – and he starts to turn around, too.

Anissa is just behind Jake in the doorway. She stares at me and Max with wide eyes, but there’s only ordinary surprise on her face.

Not like on Jake’s.

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