Page 75 of One More Made Up Love Song
He lifts one hand to my jaw, sliding it back so his long fingers are wrapped around the back of my neck, then he tugs me forward and lowers his head. His eyes are open, watching me, like he’s gauging my reaction as he brushes his nose against mine, then he pulls back and holds my gaze for a long moment. He smiles the slightest bit, and I’m not sure what to make of it.
Is he acknowledging that we’re in on this together—like, ha-ha, look at how well we’re fooling everyone? Or is he just genuinely enjoying the moment?
I’m thinking too much, and the anticipation is practically killing me, so I take matters into my own hands and push up on my toes, finally pressing my lips against his.
The last time Freddie kissed me, I was so surprised, Ididn’t have time to anticipate. But now, I’m hyperaware, every sense tuned to every single place our bodies are touching. The hand that wraps around my waist to the small of my back. The heat of every single fingertip as it presses through the thin fabric of my dress. My hands on his chest, the way I can feel his heart pounding through my palm. The taste of him as his lips part and he deepens the kiss.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know we’re standing in a room full of people. That I’mkissingFreddie Ridgefield in a room full of people. But it doesn’t feel like it.
It feels like it’s just us. Like he’s the only person in the world who matters.
He has to feel this too. The electricity. The fire coursing through my veins. He has to know this matters so much more than a publicity stunt.
I push up on my toes, feeling a sudden need to be even closer. Freddie responds, his hands lifting to my face as the kiss shifts to something more intense. Lips parting. Hands grasping. Hearts pounding. The brush of his tongue. The graze of my teeth across his bottom lip.
The stubble on Freddie’s cheeks is rough under my palms as I ask for more, tasting him, savoring the contact. But then he wraps his hands around my wrists and gives them a gentle squeeze before finally pulling back, chest heaving as his breath slows. The fire in his expression turns my insides molten, but there’s something else there too. A question I can’t read.
Panic floods my brain. Was I the one pushing the kiss? Asking for more? Was it too much and now he’s wondering what could possibly have come over me?
I lick my lips and drop my hands, taking a step backward. “That should do it, I think,” I say. I pat Freddie on the chest with an awkwardness that even makesmecringe. “I think we definitely convinced everyone.”
Even me, I think.
Then I turn and make a run for the bathroom.
I standat the sink and stare at my reflection, hands pressed into the cool marble countertop. My dress is speckled with the water I just splashed on my neck and cheeks, but I hardly care. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll spend the rest of the night in here anyway.
I definitely can’t go back out there.
When the bathroom door swings open, I start to panic, but then Laney slips into the room, locking the door behind her. She makes quick work of checking the stalls to make sure we’re alone, then she moves in beside me, leaning against the counter so she can face me.
“So,” she says gently. “Should we talk about that kiss?”
I breathe out a sigh. Even though I haven’t known Laney very long, when we met last year, we had an instant kinship that made her feel like an immediate friend. Whenever we see each other, our relationship feels easy and natural, like we’re picking up exactly where we left off, so I’m not at all taken aback by her question.
And truthfully, I’m glad she showed up to ask about it because if Idon’ttalk about it, I might explode.
“It was obvious, wasn’t it?” I ask. I turn on the tap and hold my hands under the cold water, then lift them to my neck a second time.
“Obvious that you two are into each other?” she asks.
I look up sharply. “No! ThatI’minto him. That was me, Laney. I was driving that kiss. I lost control. Stopped thinking. He probably thinks I…” I turn off the water and reach for some paper towels, fighting the urge to flee.
Maybe the bathroom isn’t far enough. I need to leave Nashville altogether.
“Ivy,” Laney says gently. “I know I’m just one person, but from what I saw, you werenotthe only person enjoying that kiss.”
I prop my hands on my hips. “Sure. Kissing is fun. I’m sure he enjoyed himself. But that doesn’t mean he wanted whatever that turned into. It doesn’t mean he has real feelings.”
Her eyebrows lift, then her expression softens. “But youdohave real feelings.”
I almost laugh at how easily she calls me out. For years I kept my feelings hidden, and now it seems like someone only has to look at me to know the truth. “I should just write it on my forehead in Sharpie," I say. “Apparently, I’m that bad at hiding it.”
“I mean, to be fair,” Laney says, “you aren’t exactly being chill right now. Without all the bathroom drama, I might not have made the leap.”
I give her a pointed look, and she winces.
“Okay, fine. Without the kiss and all the bathroom drama, I might not have made the leap. But that’s a good thing, right? You guys want people to think you’re together for real. Well, mission accomplished. That was some kiss.”
