Page 71 of Free to Judge
He turns into my touch, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my neck. The sensation sends a jolt of electricity through me. His voice drops low, like a promise. “I don’t know when that’s going to be possible.”
I lean forward and brush my lips across his. “We’ll figure it out.”
This time, he doesn’t hesitate. This time, it’s not a mistake. He pulls me to him, burying his fingers in my hair. My body melts into his. I grip his shoulders, holding on as if I’m afraid he’ll disappear.
But he doesn’t. He deepens the kiss, breathing life into my very core. It’s a kiss that tells me everything I need to know about how he feels. It tells me he wants to be with me, a fact I didn’t know if we’d ever reach or if I’d ever know. The fact he’s here now is as clear as any words he could say.
But he’s just as scared.
I get it. Because I do, I pull back, my lips tingling and my heart beating like mad.
“Wow,” I murmur.
He leans his forehead against mine, the sweetest smile on his face. “Firebrand,” he says, like it’s the highest praise he can give.
We stay like that, an eternity packed into a few brief seconds. I’m the one who pulls back, afraid if I don’t, I’ll never have the strength to tell him the next part. “Declan, I’m willing to see where this goes. I want to. But I need to know, do you want this too?”
He brushes my hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. The intimacy of the gesture causes my heart to skip a beat. He kisses my forehead before he replies, “I want to. I’m not sure how good I’ll be at it.”
I can’t stop the grin that breaks across my face. “I’ll take that. Just don’t wig out on me again, okay?”
He lets out a choked laugh. “You’re the only person who would dare call me out like that and have me coming back for more.”
“Does that mean you’re not going to run?”
“Not unless I need to sweep you off your feet and carry you somewhere safe.”
“Let’s hope there’s no need for that.”
“I won’t let there be.” His words are as much a promise to me as they are to himself. “Kalie, I’m?—”
This time, I cut him off with my own mouth before he could apologize again. He doesn’t resist, instead pulling me closer still.
I let him. For now.
Later that night, I explore some of the selfies we took together on my phone while we were snuggled together on the couch.
He didn’t protest, just turned his face into my hair and buried his lips into it.
The fact he didn’t gave my heart hope that we’re more. We’re building something together. Still, when he snuck out earlier, there’s a small part of me that wonders what we are and where we’re going. Mentally shrugging, I give up control.
We’ll figure it out when we get there.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Our night startswith an argument over pizza toppings.
“Mushrooms are not a topping,” she declares, curling her dainty bare foot on her kitchen stool with a glass of cabernet in one hand. “They’re fungus. Fungus is not conducive to romance. Thus, while I don’t have a problem with the bride and groomwanting an individual pizza party buffet, I vehemently disagree with the inclusion of fungus. It’s wrong.”
I raise a brow as I watch her prepare a large thin crust pizza smothered with sauce, cheese, and pepperoni, which she insisted on cooking for us from scratch when I arrived—late, per usual. “Neither is pineapple, but you’re not banning that.”
“Because pineapple is a fruit. It’s tropical. Joyful.”
I lean over the counter. “It’s offensive. Like putting tie-dye on the Constitution.”
She laughs, the sound light and unguarded—something I’m fighting a war to protect. “Wow. You really went full 1L with that analogy.”
“I did not go first-year Harvard Law. All I did was protect human rights to not ruin a pizza.”
