Page 31 of Seas the Dating Coach

“Goodnight, Finn. Thanks for the dating practice tonight.” Vivian takes a loose key from her dress pocket, stepping into the soft light of the sconce beside the solitary back door.

“Of course.” I feel each inch of her moving in the opposite direction, like a hot iron slowly pressed to my skin. “Text if you need anything else.”

Her hand freezes halfway toward the lock, and it’s that momentary pause that shakes my insane question free.

It’s a terrible idea. The worst I’ve had in a long time. But I find myself saying, “Do you also want to practice a goodnight kiss?”

fourteen

Vivian

My eyelashes flutter, blurring the view of my door. There’s no way I heard him correctly. “I—I’m sorry?”

Finn’s forceful exhale is audible. “Neverm—”

“Yes,” I cut him off, turning to face him and pocketing my key.

I expect flirtatious Finn to hit me with that roguish smile, but his jaw tightens. “You’re sure?”

“I think it would be good practice. Don’t you?”

The tendons in his neck strain as he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you want, Vivian?”

You.

The unwieldy thought escapes before I can catch it.

But honestly, who could blame me?

Finn is masculinity perfected—all hard lines and muscles while still managing to be charming and kind. The way his eyes seemed to sparkle whenever I spoke left me heady earlier. Andthe stupid thing about it is that I’ve seen him pay that same rapt attention to others. It’s a practiced skill. Iknowthat. I know I’m nothing special. The connection I feel with Finn is a figment of my unwieldy imagination, a byproduct of reading too many romance novels. Tonight was all an act because I would never register on Finn’s radar had we not concocted this unusual alliance.

Regardless, I’m not ready for the night to be over. And I reallycoulduse help. My only kissing experience had been from one of Noah’s baseball parties during high school. It’d felt like Noah’s teammate had been two seconds from unhinging his jaw and swallowing me whole. I know kissing can be slobbery, but surely that guy had a glandular disorder.

There’s no doubt that Finn’s kiss will be extraordinary—a triumphant culmination of years of experience.

Something I am desperately lacking.

“I want you to kiss me.”

I don’t tell Finn about my lack of experience. He’ll likely notice. And if I say anything other than the daring sentence that just left my mouth, I’ll chicken out.

The leisurely way Finn closes the distance between us is entirely too predatorial. Though I’d expected fierce, focused intent, the way he’s looking at me has the potential to make my heart implode. When my back bumps against the door, I almost ask him to stop. But then Finn pauses, and the intense pressure vaporizes.

The hesitant way his breath skirts over my temple doesn’t feel like a suave maneuver. His broad chest heaves at an erratic frequency, matching mine. It’s not until Finn wavers as our noses brush, a thick swallow bobbing his throat, that I finally understand.

He’s being slow and cautious because that’s how Atticus would kiss me.

My dating coach has thought of everything.

The slight tremor in his fingertips as they slide up my bare arms is intentional. The broken-glass-in-a-cement-mixer quality of his voice as he murmurs “Vivian” is above and beyond showmanship. I almost smile at how easy he’s making this for me.

By the time Finn kisses me, I’m ready. The slight press of Finn’s mouth to mine isn’t what I was expecting, though. Indescribable energy cracks down my bones, righting my organs in its wake. I don’t feel flustered anymore. Instead, a sensation of wholeness straightens my spine. I’m somehow stronger with Finn’s whiskey-tinged lips on mine. The overwhelming sense of rightness flooding each and every nerve ending is so satiating that a breathy sigh escapes me. I feel Finn’s smile rather than see it, and the spike of joy pistoning through me threatens to knock me sideways. Because…

This feels like a memory. Like something we’ve done before.

Which makes absolutely no sense.

Finn’s face lifts from mine, and my body seizes control. It’s a hostile takeover. My brain is duct taped to a chair somewhere with a purple paisley handkerchief over its mouth. It knows I should allow that chaste kiss to be the end of this particular lesson, but the rest of me vehemently disagrees.

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