Page 10 of Sweeter

I giggle, and then it comes. The solution. I beam and I must look a bit insane because Will drops his hands from my waist. “You okay?”

“Oh yeah, I have the best idea ever.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. “Go on.”

“I need money and you need to not be a husk of a man. We could waste our chemistry on a filthy one-night stand—”

“Waste?”

“Or we could compromise and both get what we need.”

“Do a sixty-nine?”

I reach up and jam his cap back on his head. “No, I give you clay throwing lessons. Eight, to be exact. That’s how long it takes to learn to throw a decent cup.”

Will frowns, taking his hat off again. “And the benefits are…?”

“I earn money while working on my own ceramics, and you learn a new skill while we solve your chronic boredom, neither of us catching feelings or using the other as a human crutch. It’s a win-win!”

“And sex would be a lose-lose?”

I feel bad for what I’m about to say, but it needs to be said. “Do you find once you’ve slept with a girl, you don’t care about her anymore?”

“I never used to.”

“But now?”

Will’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t deny it.

I shake my head. “Come on, man, let’s skip the part where I try to change you and you resent me for trying. Let’s make a valuable contribution to each other’s lives!”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “You’d be great in sales.”

“I’m better in art. And perspective changing.”

He grins. “You really are a keyhole girl, aren’t you? Sliding through problems to the solutions.”

I laugh, but I’m caught off guard. I’m used to being the one who notices things, not being noticed. “So, do you agree to be taught the art of clay throwing?”

“Sure. When can we start? Tomorrow?”

It’s soon, but when I leave Alchemy, I know it’ll feel like a million years. “That works. Meet me at Blue Lodge at eight with a packed lunch and an open mind.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he says, and then he makes one. He brushes a curl from my left eye, then cups my cheek, stroking the soft of my skin. His eyes are dark, his pupils blown out with whatever chemical lust dumps into your system. I know I should resist, but it turns out the cup of my good intentions is paper, and it burns the second I offer it to the kiln. I raise myself on my tiptoes again and I kiss him.

Will’s mouth is hot with liquor and so sure, he might have kissed me a million times before, only he hasn’t because I would have remembered. I would have made cups and bowls and necklaces and rings and bracelets and vases and sixty-foot statues in tribute to this perfection. Time dawdles and I close my eyes and try to take in everything—the tingling in my lips, the sugar babies singing along to Billie Eilish, the sandalwood of Will’s cologne, detectable even beneath the wine. Mostly, I just feel the heat of his skin on mine. That’s what being alive is. Heat.

There is a round of applause and Will and I unwind ourselves from the best kiss of my life.

Will looks as dazed as I feel. “That was...”

“I know.” I feel ten feet tall, but my conscience is nipping at my brain, reminding me of all the reasons why I didn’t want to make this physical. I take a small step back. “We can be better than sex, Will.”

“Is that possible?”

“Right now, I’m not sure.”

He pulls me closer and I can feel the hardness between his legs. In defiance of myself, I touch his hair. It’s silky and firm, like the tip of an expensive paintbrush. His mouth brushes my neck and chills skitter down my spine. I want to say yes all over again, but I also know cups crumble in the kiln. Usually, the ones you want to last the most because you over-handle them push the destruction into the clay. Will was right, I can slip through things and find the solutions, but I want that for other people too. I gently press him backward. “Blue Lodge studio at eight.”

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