Page 24 of Missing Linc
He’s kissing me.
Linc Young is kissing me.
Why the fuck is he kissing me? Isn’t he supposed to be straight? He told me so himself. Many times. More than I cared to hear.
But…
Here he is. His lips locked with mine, tasting just as delicious as I remember from the other night outside Stone’s Bar, and I can’t think, for lack of a better word, straight.
His hand on the back of my neck spreads a heat all the way to my groin, and his tongue lashing at mine just lights the fire along the way.
I’ll be damned if this isn’t everything I’ve been dreaming of since the first time we kissed. Hell, since the first time I laid my eyes on him in the wrong classroom all those months ago.
But…
“What are you doing?” I manage to ask while pushing him off me.
I should get a medal for this or something. It doesn’t just take strength. It takes… guts and heart, as he put it.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asks back.
“Experimenting? Losing it? Rebounding?” I say the first few things that come to mind because those are the only possible explanations. Right?
“Would it be so terrible if I was?” His breathing is hard. And I can’t exactly blame him. He did take my breath away. But apparently he didn’t save it for himself, either.
“Would it be so terrible if you were… what? Experimenting, losing it, or rebounding?”
He sighs and bites his lip, looking away from me.
“Any of the three,” he says.
Fuck.
I did not expect him to say that.
“I don’t know,” I answer, truthfully. “This”—I point between us—“is wrong, right?”
He turns to me and cocks his head.
“Why?”
Damn it. More unanswerable questions.
Because right now, in this instance, with the remnants of his taste still on my lips, I can’t think why, either.
“Because,” I say. I look away from him. Look at the pizza joint behind me, look at my car beside me, look at the trash can behind him. “You’re… we’re… we work together.”
“Shit,” he replies. “You’re right. I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I thought you were… I thought I was seeing signals and…fuck.”
That makes me turn to stare at him.
“You thought I was giving you signals?”
He curses again and blames himself.
“Well, I didn’t realize I was, but… I guess I was,” I say, reaching out to touch his shoulder because I don’t like seeing him pissed with himself.
“You were?” he whispers under his breath, only looking at me from the corner of his eyes, choosing instead to lean against my car and hang his head between his shoulders.
