Page 92 of The Wild Card
“I don’t know if I want to do social media anymore,” I confess. “And I know that we just agreed to this whole thing so I could help you by posting things, and I guess I still will as long as you need me to. I don’t have to quit now but … I think I want to stop creating content and posting anything about my life online. I’m sorry if this messes up our agreement.”
Collin is quiet for a long time, still not looking at me. His hand stays in mine, though, so I swallow hard and force myself not to keep talking, lest I blurt out anything else I regret.
After what feels like an extremely long moment, his gaze returns to mine. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness, and in the light coming from the half-moon and the flickering citronella candle, Collin’s expression shifts. Lifting a hand, he brushes back a strand of my hair.
“You don’t need to post for my sake,” he says.
“But your business—” I start, and he shakes his head, interrupting me.
“Will be fine. If you don’t want to do it, I don’t want you to.”
“But what about this?” I gesture between us. “What about the whole fake relationship and me helping you since you’re helping me? If I don’t keep posting?—”
And that’s when Collin kisses me.
I don’t see it coming, or at least, not quickly enough for my brain to register him leaning closer until his lips brush mine once. Softly. Tenderly. Expertly.
He pulls back, searching my face, a question in his eyes. “Sorry for interrupting,” he says.
“Are you?” I whisper.
“No.”
This time, I slide my free hand into his hair and tug his mouth to mine.
His kiss is so veryCollin. Strong and purposeful and sexy, but also somehow comforting and warm and safe. I can’t get enough as his lips move against mine, testing, teasing.
One second, he’s playful. The next—so intense I stop breathing and end up practically gasping for air when he shifts to press a line of kisses along my jaw.
Two of our hands are still gripping each other, but his other hand finds my waist, settling there with a firm weight that makes me feel as grounded as it doeswanted.
I’m lost in the feel of his lips on mine until my brain decides to ruin things once again by wondering if this is real or just practice.
I pull back. Not too far back because I don’treallywant to discourage more kissing but enough so I can speak.
“You kissed me,” I say, stating the obvious.
Collin smiles, and when he does, his lips brush mine. “And you kissed me back.”
“I did.”
“I’d kind of like to do it again,” he says, voice rough and husky.
“Me too. But are we just practicing? Or …” I trail off, not quite able to find the courage to suggest that this could be real. That I want it to be real.
Collin reaches up and strokes a fingertip across my cheek, then down the slope of my nose to my lips, tracing the top and bottom, finally coming to rest on my jaw.
“Can I be honest with you?”
Not sure even ayesornowould be able to make it past my lips right now, I nod.
His blue eyes lock on mine. “I don’t want to practice. I don’t want to pretend. Not about any of it. I don’t need you to post about us online. I’ll figure something else out with my gym. All I really want is to kiss you—for no reason other than because I like you, Molly. For real.”
“You do?” The question is a whisper, a hope, a wish.
“I do. Alot.You know, I think Jo was onto something when she just spoke her mind and said the truth plainly. Why is that so easy for kids and not for adults?”
“I don’t know.” I bite my lip. “Maybe because somewhere along the way we learned it’s safer to hide.”
