Page 112 of How to Walk Away

“He can’t kiss me,” I told Kit. “It’s against the rules.”

“Which rules?” she asked.

“All of them,” I answered.

But Ian was considering his options. “What happens if I refuse?”

Kit leveled a don’t-mess-around look at him, and then, like it was a challenge, she said, “Then I guess you’ll waste a chance for a kiss.”

“You don’t have to kiss me,” I said to Ian, and then to Kit, “Cut it out! You’re going to get him fired!”

But Ian squatted down in front of my chair. He flipped up the foot rests as he lifted one foot, then the other, setting them flat on the floor. I was barefoot and I could feel, in places, how cool the surface was. Then Ian leaned close for me to put my hands on his shoulders, like he’d done so often in the pool, and he placed his hands on my hips to steady me, and I leaned forward, and I locked my knees, and I moved toward him—and we stood.

“It’s bad luck to ignore mistletoe,” Ian said.

Those blue eyes. His face so close. The air tingled in my lungs. Was he going to do this? “Nobody in this room needs any more bad luck,” I said.

His gaze was locked on mine. “Very true.”

“But you can’t kiss me,” I said, hoping like hell he wouldn’t agree.

“I can’t?”

“What if somebody reports you?”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t?”

“Want to know the only question I care about?”

I nodded.

He looked into my eyes and said, “What do you want?”

I held my breath. What did I want?

What the hell kind of question was that?

I wanted him.

I wanted to drag him up to the rooftop and stay there all night.

I wanted to be the girl I used to be. The one with the hair, and jeans, and hips. The one with at least a chance of being wanted back.

But no way was I saying that.

I might never get the things I wanted. But at least I was the only one who had to know.

I shrugged.

Ian studied me, as if he could tell by looking.

Then he glanced up at the mistletoe one more time and shrugged right back.

He pressed closer, and he tightened his arm around my waist. I stretched my arms up around his neck, and as I did, I ran my eyes over his collarbones at the V of his blue scrubs, then up along his jaw, to let my gaze rest on his mouth.

Then he leaned down toward me. It felt like slow-motion, with Nina crooning “Midnight Train to Georgia” in the background. Inches away, he slowed down and lingered, like he was savoring the moment. Like he was taking it in. I hadn’t noticed how much Kit had dimmed the lights until suddenly the disco-ball light seemed to fill the room with stars, and it felt like the only steady thing in the world was Ian.

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