Page 50 of Mr. Picture Perfect
I glance back at the restaurant. Through the window, all I see are people eating and laughing while the two or three servers on duty rush around hurriedly doing their jobs. No one is looking this way. We’re all alone out here on the street.
Maybe that’s what gives me courage. “Cole …”
“Really, it’s okay.”
“You said you liked me.”
He meets my eyes right then, silent and still.
I can’t quite look at him yet, so I say this to his chest. “Your feelings have been communicated adequately. You are good with your words. I, on the other hand, am not. I came out here on my own to check on you. Perhaps that’smyway of communicating that I …” Fear takes hold of my throat like an ice-cold hand trying to squeeze it shut. “… that I … that I don’t want … I don’t want you to … t-to keep your distance.”
Cole’s eyes have grown twice in size.
He seems to be holding his breath.
And I seem to have reached my maximum amount of words I can utter before magically turning back into an awkward human-shaped rock with glasses.
Cole takes a single step toward me. “Are you saying … that it’s okay … that I have feelings for you …?”
I can’t seem to speak, so I simply give a stiff, microscopic nod.
He takes another step. “And it’s okay I kissed you yesterday?”
My body grows stiffer, like I’m slowly turning into stone with each step he takes closer to me, yet somehow, miraculously, I am able to nod again.
He stops in front of me. “Noah … are you saying it would be welcomed … if I were to …?”
I can’t stand it.
I lunge forward and press my lips against Cole’s, desperate to taste him again, desperate for that overwhelming giddiness to live inside my body and never let me go.
I guess I miscalculate the amount of force I put into the kiss.
Because Cole lets out a grunt of surprise and loses his balance. When he falls backwards like a tree, I fall forward, and the pair of us go careening awkwardly toward the road.
For an impressive amount of time, neither of us actually fall.
In fact, we might appear to the casually-observing eye like a skilled pair of dancers fumbling gracefully and intentionally over our backwards steps toward the street.
Until a vehicle parked on the curb meets his back.
He slams against it.
And I slam against him.
Then the car alarm goes off, blaring out to inform all of Main Street about our unforgivable behavior—and a possible vehicular burglary in progress.
I’m pressed against Cole from both gravity and desire, crotch-to-crotch, face-to-face.
His eyes go wide.
Mine, too.
I let out a gasp and pull away—only to realize Cole is clinging to me by my shirt. He tries to get to his feet with me, but loses his grip, which sends him falling right back against the cold, hard hood of the car. Meanwhile, the alarm continues to cry out for the cops, desperate to be heard as it screeches for help.
I guess I can understand its plight. What inanimate object in its right mind would want a pair of horny guys making out on top of its face?
Just when Cole thinks he’s found his footing, his back begins to slide down the hood toward the nose of the car. He attempts to stop himself, fails, starts to roll, shouts out an unintelligible curse word, then drops to the pavement in front of the car with a grunt.
