Page 82 of Fun Together
We arrive at her apartment building, and I find a parking spot out front. “I’ll walk you up.”
Her black dress shines in the moonlight, swirling around her curves, and I’m entranced. When we get to her door she asks, “Do you want to hang out for a little?”
I shouldn’t, because my will power is hanging on by a thread, but nothing will ever give me the ability to say no to her. “Sure.”
She unlocks the door, and we step into her entryway.
“I’m really sorry,” I say.
She looks confused. “For what?”
“Tonight. I wish there was something I could do.” It drives me crazy, knowing she’s upset. Wanting to fix it, but not knowing how. Wanting to touch her, hold her, make her feel better.
Again, I wonder what she’s thinking.
“I should apologize to you. I had a weird moment. It’s just—” She leans against the back of her couch and starts to sniffle, like she’s about to cry again. Her voice breaks as she shuffles around to sit on the couch. “It’s?—”
I rush over to sit next to her, completely at a loss for what to say. I place my hand against her back. “It’s okay.”
“It’s these stupid shoes,” she finally says and looks up at me, lip trembling. “My feet huuuuurt.”
It’s not funny, but I sort of laugh because it’s so unexpected and cute. But I’m also relieved, because this is something I can help with, an action I can take to comfort her in some way. “Here.” I tap my legs. “Put your feet up.”
She smiles and swipes her hands across her cheeks. “I’m being dramatic. You don’t have to take my shoes off for me.”
“I want to,” I say.
She turns and bunches her dress up so that her legs can swing up onto my lap. Seeing her dress pulled up, revealing a glimpse of her thighs is giving me ideas. More than just kissing ideas. I shift so that her feet aren’t resting on what is becoming an obvious proof of where my thoughts are going.
I swallow hard and try to get my brain stem to instruct my fingers to unclasp the buckle on her shoes. They’re black with tiny straps that crisscross all over her feet. She lays her head back and closes her eyes, letting out a sigh as I loosen them. They’ve left red marks all over her feet and I glide my hands over them, pressing my thumbs gently into the indentations. “No wonder you were hurting.”
She sighs again and I swear it almost turns into a moan. “That feels . . . amazing.”
I move my hands up to massage along her ankles and calves. Her skin is soft and smooth.
What if I just ask her? It never hurts to ask. “Can I ask you something?”
She turns her head toward me and opens her eyes. “Mm-hmm.”
“Were we about to kiss earlier?”
Her eyes widen the tiniest bit, and I swear she glances at my mouth as she says, “I think so.”
I continue running my hands over her arches, up her calves, and back down again. “Can I be honest about something?”
“Okay?” She huffs out a nervous laugh.
Fuck it.“Ireallywant to kiss you.”
Now it’s out there—and either she wants to kiss me too, and I’ll be sucked into the Faye vortex forever, or she’ll reject the idea, and I can move on.
She sits up and scoots closer so that she’s almost sitting in my lap, almost the exact same way we were sitting in the photobooth. She rests her forehead against my shoulder and her voice is muffled against the fabric of my shirt. “I really want to kiss you, too.”
Then she looks up at me, and her eyes seem to tell me that she’s come to the same conclusion I have. We both want this, so what’s the harm in seeing how it feels?
I place my hand on the side of her neck, with my thumb resting along her jaw. “Not a pretend kiss?” It’s suddenly the most important thing in the world to me that this kiss be the most real thing I’ve ever experienced.
She grins and a wave of pink spreads up her neck into her face. She’s so gorgeous, and I feel like I swallow my own heart waiting for her answer. “No pretending.”
