Page 116 of The Rom-Commers

“I didn’t want to kiss youfor research,” Charlie said again, watching me to see if I got it.

Did I get it?

Neither of us was sure.

Charlie gave it another second—waiting for my expression to shift into understanding.

But I was afraid to understand. What if I got it wrong?

So Charlie gave up on the waiting.

Instead, he cradled my face in his hands and tilted me up to meet his eyes.

Then he shifted his gaze from my eyes to my mouth, and he wasn’t just looking, he wasseeing. It was like he was taking in everything about my mouth—from color, to texture, to shape. It was physical, like it had a force, and I swear I could feel it, like he was brushing the skin of my lips with nothing but the intensity of his gaze.

And then he leaned in closer, staying laser-focused on this one place right in front of him.

The anticipation was excruciating.

I watched his mouth as he leaned closer.

And then, just as we touched, he brought his hand into my hair to hold me close.

And I stretched my arms up around his neck.

And the kiss just took over.

His mouth felt smooth and firm and soft all at once, and the warmth and tenderness of it all swirled together with my dawning understanding thatthis was happening—Charlie Yates was kissing me. And a dreamy euphoria hijacked all my senses, and I felt like long grass billowed by the wind.

I was just sinking into it when Charlie pulled back a little and opened his eyes to check my reaction, likeWas that okay?

Um. Was that even a question? We’d need a better word for okay.

I reached up behind Charlie’s neck to pull him back.

Had I been ragging on Charlie for forgetting what kissing was like?

Because I’m not sure I ever knew in the first place.

There’s something about a kiss that brings all the opposites together. The wanting and the getting. The longing and the having. All those cacophonous emotions that usually collide against one another teaming up at last into a rare and exquisite harmony.

I remember pressing my mouth to his, and plunging into a feeling of being lost—submerged in touch and closeness. I remember our arms wreathing and entwining around each other, and pulling tighter and exploring. I remember how my palms wanted to feel everything they could find: the sandpapery stubble on his neck, the muscles across his shoulders, and his solid torso under his T-shirt.

He felt real.

But more than that: he made me feel real.

The kiss lit a warmth that spread through me like honey, softening everything tense, and soothing everything hurt, and enveloping everything lonely.

I’d dated other people before. I’d had a few mild relationships. But I’d never felt anything like this.

And then a thought hit me:This might be love.

Oh, god. This really might be love.

But then, before I could decide if that was a good thing or a disaster, the oven timer for dinner went off.

Loud. Off-key. Insistent.

---