Page 220 of Coach
I leaned in.
Slowly.
Because I didn’t know how to say anything back. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
But I could do this.
My lips were dry, probably cracked beyond repair. Still, I pressed them forward and kissed his forehead. It was quick and gentle, more instinct than planned.
When I pulled back, I didn’t move for a second, just stared down at him.
He stood there, frozen—eyes wide, lips parted like maybe he had something to say but forgot how English worked. His hands hung by his sides, one twitching like it might reach for me, the other still fisted in the fabric of his shirt like it was the only solid thing within reach.
My stomach did something weird. Something flippy.
Shit.
I’d kissed him. I hadactuallykissed him.
On the forehead, sure. But still.
That wasn’t nothing. He had a nice forehead.
It had felt . . . good even. Like maybe I hadn’t ruined everything just by existing near him for too long; but now he just stood there like a deer in very romantic headlights, and I was convinced I’d short-circuited the entire evening, possibly my whole life.
Was the kiss too much? Too soft? Too foreheady?
Was foreheady even a thing?
What if he thought I was being condescending?
What if he hated it? What if he hated me despite his words?
What if he thought I only liked him in theadorable pet store puppysort of way and not theactual feelings, actual dangerway?
And what the fuck did I actually feel about this guy? In all my worries about his feelings, I hadn’t dared explore my own. Looking inside myself invoked a different terror, one far more deep and dark. It was like that horrible childhood nightmare no one wanted to revisit.
God, I was not good at this.
I panicked.
I didn’t look back as I climbed into my truck, slammed the door behind me, and turned the key as quickly as my fingers would move.
As I drove away, I saw him in the rearview mirror.
He stood there like I’d just dropped a plot twist on him he hadn’t prepared for. His body was rigid, his face still froze, like a bug in amber. Slowly, his hand raised in a weak, stunned wave.
I drove off with my heart still stuck in my throat, and the shape of his smile burning behind my eyes.
Chapter 21
Mateo
“Your what?” Sisi gaped.
“Myforehead. He kissed my forehead,” I said, unsure whether to puff my chest out or slink away.
“What are you, eight? Did he offer to tuck you in, too? Change your nappy?” she needled.
