Page 52 of First Impressions of You

We stare at each other in silence. In challenge. It’s the most tension-filled game of chicken I’ve ever played. Winter takes a step forward, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel caged between him and the door.

I gulp. It’s all I can do to keep myself from looking away.

“Here’s what you have to do,” he starts, but I cut him off.

“Nope.” I pop the sound with my lips. “You’re not putting this on me. You know very well you messed up today.” I take a step forward, finger pointed at his chest.

“I wasn’t the only one. You couldn’t get your lines out. You were distracted.”

“I got them right just fine. You were the one who turned all your emotions off. You were so done with all of that you simply couldn’t get to the end.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Sunshine.”

“I told you not to call me that, Davis,” I say even though I have kind of missed hearing the annoying nickname. If I weren’t so close to him, I wouldn’t have noticed the way he flinches at my use of his last name. I can’t deny it leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but it’s worth it if it makes him mad. “And you know I’m right.”

“You’re not.”

“Tell me you didn’t give up halfway through that last scene. Tell me you didn’t shut off. I could see it in your eyes. Don’t put this on me when you’re the one who’s always felt too superior for any of this. I know you hate that I was a mere park employee before this. I know you despise Movieland’s policy to hire within the team to give people opportunity they might never have otherwise. I know you’ve never considered me a good enough actress to play Melina. I know you loathe the idea of playing opposite someone who isn’t famous like you are because you—”

I don’t get to finish the sentence. Winter seals my lips with his. I don’t know when or how, but the distance between us disappeared. His lips meet mine with ease. I’m paralyzed. I’m afraid to move because if I do, he might break apart, and I cannot think of anything I want less right now.

His lips are soft. And warm. They taste slightly of cinnamon and mint, and they infuse my bloodstream with jolts of electricity. My entire body suddenly feels awake. Like I can feel each and every single nerve ending. Our lips are the only point of touch, and yet I can feel Winter in every inch of my skin.

He finally takes in my frozen reaction, and he starts to pull away. Instantly, I throw my arms around his neck, bringing him back to me. It feels like I’ve been swimming aimlessly in deep waters and have finally found my way to the surface. I refuse to go down again. His kiss is the air I didn’t know I needed.

I feel the weight of his arm wrap around my waist, his forearm burning the exposed skin on my lower back as he walks us backwards, my back slamming against the door. Our bodies are glued together now, all of my soft curves pressed to his hard planes. His hand rises to cup my face, and I sigh into his lips, leaning to the touch.

He growls in response, a primal sound from the back of his throat that he follows with a trace of his tongue across the seam of my lips, asking for entrance. I open to him, he slips his tongue into my mouth, and I feel fireworks explode in my chest.

If I thought Winter’s lips tasted good, his tongue tastes like divine nectar. He’s sweet, hungry, careful, devouring. I want nothing more than to let him have me. His tongue explores mine in a mix of hot, wet urgency and tender longing. I let myself get lost in him, in the deliberate movement of his tongue, in the exploring quest of his hand on my back, tracing the curves of my body.

When he reaches the cut-off hem of my cropped top, he hesitates. And it’s enough for my brain to catch up on what’s happening. That brief moment of hesitation pulls me from this foggy state of mind, reality slapping me right on the face. I push him away from me, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the fuck?”

I half expect Winter to turn around and leave without saying anything. It’d be so on-brand for him to do it. To come over, turn my life upside down, then walk away as if he’d done nothing. As if he owned me no explanation at all.

Instead, he looks me in the eye. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

And he undoes me with those three short words.

“I’m sorry?” I repeat his words back to him, ten times louder. “I’m sorry? What was that?”

He takes a good five steps away from me as if he needs the space to clear his head and be able to talk. I realize I need it too, so I can finally take a full breath with his body not glued to mine.

“I…” he begins, but his voice sounds gruff, like he’s throat has suddenly turned into sandpaper. “You’re right. I did shut off. I did give up in the middle of that scene.”

“Why? Why do you hate me so much that you feel the need to hold back like that?”

“You think I’m holding back because I hate you? I’m holding back because I don’t trust myself around you, Sunshine.”

There’s something different in the way the nickname comes out of his mouth this time. For the first time it sounds almost like a term of endearment.

“Wh-what?”

“I don’t trust myself around you, and I have to hold back because I don’t know if I’ll be able to control my feelings once I give in.”

“Give in?”

---