Page 42 of The Publicity Stunt
“Did you really mean that?”
“Of course,” I say.
Another pause. A long one this time.
“Okay, April, you’re starting to scare me now.”
“I’m gonna ask you this once,” she says. “And just so you know, if it doesn’t go my way, then we’re never going to speak about this again. Ever. Agreed?”
Go her way? What the hell is she talking about?
Before I can get those words out of my mouth, she blurts out, “Do you remember when we kissed for practice?”
My frown deepens. “Yeah.”
April’s mouth twitches, trying not to smile. “Have you, um, thought about doing it again?”
“Doing … what again?”
She falters. “Kissing me. Do you think about kissing me again?”
My mouth gapes, my jaw permanently unhinged.
What.
The.
Fuck.
“Parker?”
The air is knocked out of my lungs. Did she just—did she really just ask me that? “Uh …” I don’t know what to say. Of course, I’ve thought about kissing her again. What am I, stupid? I try not to think about it, but it rarely works. I think about it a lot. What it would feel like. Where I’d put my hands. How she’d feel in my arms. Her soft, pink lips on mine. Like ice to a flame.
How the hell did we even get here? Weren’t we talking about her parents?
My shock manifests itself in the form of a sharp laugh.
“Oh God,” she whispers, mortified. “It’s fine … you know, just please forget I said anything.” All her earlier confidence seems to have vanished into thin air.
“April.”
She shields her face. “No, you agreed we’d never speak of this again. Erase it from existence. This conversation never happened.”
“Actually, I agreed to no such thing.” My voice is hoarse. My thoughts are strangled. My head is spinning. The next question flies out my mouth like a reflex: “Do you want me to kiss you again?”
A short pause, and she lowers her hands, just a little, uncovering her eyes. “What?”
“Do you want me to kiss you again?” Good God, I sound way too eager.
Setting her palms over the frilly hem of her red cotton shorts, April narrows her eyes and mulls over my words. Or at least, she acts like she does. “Do you … want me to want you to kiss me again?”
What?
“Do you want to kiss me again?” she clarifies. Her cheeks are flaming red and I can’t quite bite back my response.
“Yeah.”
April’s expression creases with concern. “You do?”
