Page 86 of The Wild Card
And, last but not least, I’d like to confess that there’s nothing fake in how I feel about or how I act around Collin.
While the words are building like water behind the dam of my closed mouth, I study Collin. Our prolonged eye contactstarts to feel like a challenge—who will blink or look away first. Tension gathers, like billowing clouds before a storm.
“You know,” Collin says, as he finally breaks eye contact to look at my lips. “We never did get to practice the other night.”
“Practice?”
“Kissing.” The word pierces through me with an arrow of desire. Suddenly, my lips are tingling, my throat tight, my breathing shallow. “My family has been on good behavior tonight, but it wouldn’t shock me if Pat or someone else tries to goad us into kissing,” he says, his tone reasonable, but his eyes darkening with every word, his pupils drowning the blue irises with black. “We wouldn’t want to look uncomfortable or like we’ve never kissed before.”
“You really think they’d do that?” I’m stalling, because I want to kiss Collin so badly, which makes me feel like I absolutely should not kiss him.
“No,” he says. “But I kind of wish they would. And it sounded like a really good excuse to kiss you, Molly.”
Once again, I laugh, even though it does nothing to dull the thrum of want beating like a drum inside me. “I appreciate your honesty,” I tell him, my laugh dying out as I lift my hand from his chest to trace the line of his jaw. The tiniest growth of stubble has filled in now, and the rough tug of it feels good against my fingertips. “And in the interest of being honest, you don’t need an excuse to kiss me, Collin.”
“I don’t?” He swallows, and my fingers move to his Adam’s apple, then to the quickening beat of his pulse in his throat.
Shaking my head, I ignore the fears and doubts making a case for me to play it safe, warning me to step away and stop this moment from going any further. I ignore all of the naysaying and lift up on my toes to brush a kiss over Collin’s throat.
“You have my permission to kiss me anytime you want.”
“I do?” When he swallows again, I feel the movement in my mouth and smile against his skin.
“You do. Although …” I’m no longer kissing but dragging my barely parted lips down to his collarbone, only a little of which is reachable between the open buttons of his shirt. “Maybe our first real kiss shouldn’t be in a bathroom?”
“It’s not very romantic,” Collin agrees, though his breathily spoken words make it sound like he doesn’t care at all.
“No, it’s not.”
“Although …” He echoes the word I said moments ago as his hands fall to my waist and tighten there, like he thinks I’m about to run and he wants to hold me in place. “I don’t think there’s any place I wouldn’t kiss you, Molly-girl. I’m pretty sure what makes a place romantic is the people in it, not the location itself.”
“Even if …” I let my words trail off as I press closer, my lips traveling up to his jaw. “The location has a toilet?”
This makes a laugh burst out of him. The tension between us almost immediately eases, which disappoints and also relieves me. Because I’m so close to just shifting over and devouring his mouth or letting him devour mine. I’m more than ready. And I think that Collin and I, even without saying the words about it, are on the same page about our feelings. I can’t be certain without him actually telling me, but I’m as sure as one can be without the words.
I also really am serious about not wanting our first kiss to be in a bathroom. Especially not in a restaurant.
Someone tries the handle, then bangs on the door, as if proving my point. “Hello? Molly? Collin? If that’s you in there, a pregnant woman needs to use the bathroom, please!”
It’s Lindy, and Collin shakes his head with a sigh as I step back. He doesn’t look disappointed, but his still-dark eyes do hold a promise that he won’t forget what I said.
“Sorry, this one is occupied,” I say in my best British accent. Which, thanks to playing the part of Cecily inThe Importance of Being Earnestin college, is actually pretty good.
“Molly?” Lindy says, sounding unsure.
“No, I don’t know a Molly,” I continue, my accent growing more dramatic as Collin’s grin widens, egging me on. “This is Mary. Mary Poppins.”
Collin tries to stifle a laugh. Outside the door, Lindy makes a frustrated noise. “I hope you two know this is going to end up in a post on Neighborly.”
Her voice moves slightly away as she talks, and then I hear the sound of another door opening before she screams. The door slams. Collin’s eyes widen as Lindy shouts, “Dude! Lock the door next time!”
CHAPTER 19
Molly
“You know,I’m starting to think you’re obsessed with this field. Or maybe this cow,” I tell Collin, who snorts as he leans on the fence.
The darkness stretching across the field in front of us is velvety, lit only by the glow of a half-moon poised just above the tree line and casting everything in a magical, silvery glow.
