Page 65 of First Impressions of You

“I didn’t know if I should,” he confesses, shoulders moving up and down.

“You should,” I affirm. He gives me a hopeful look, and I just nod to confirm. He steps away to call her, leaving me and Winter alone.

We haven’t had many opportunities to be alone. Not since the last time, when he was at my place, telling me his story. Making me realize that I had been wrong in judging him so quickly.

“Look at you playing Cupid,” he teases.

“Just trying to fix your mess,” I tease back, but as soon as I say it I realize I shouldn’t have. His body tenses up, and he casts his eyes down. “Hey. I’m joking. Sorry.”

“You didn’t lie, though.”

“No, I didn’t.” I poke him to show I’m not being serious. When he doesn’t respond, I add, “I shouldn’t have made that joke.”

“It’s good that you did,” he says, turning on his stool to face me. His entire body is turned to me, and I find myself turning to face him too, my legs easily finding their way between his as he uses my stool to support his feet, caging me in.

“Yeah?”

The beginning of a smirk tugs at his lips as he cuts me an intense stare that I feel down to my core. The sudden weight of his gaze on me sends a tingle between my legs.

“As long as you’re joking, that means you probably don’t hate me that much anymore.”

“I don’t think I could hate you if I wanted to,” I confess in a whisper.

His smirk turns into a full-on smile, his eyes gleaming at me, and then, all at once, they shift, darkening, consuming. His gaze drops to my lips, and I have to fight a full-body shudder. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leans forward. His hand comes up to tug a stray curl behind my ear, and they stay there, brushing feather-light strokes on my jawline.

His eyes keep dropping to my lips as if he can’t resist it any more than a river can stop flowing downstream.

Any moment now he’s going to kiss me. I can already feel the cinnamon taste of his lips on mine. The taste I haven’t been able to forget since that first day he appeared at my apartment. But so much has changed since that moment. I wonder if the kiss will taste different. If I’ll be able to get just one and not crave more.

He seems to read in my expression that I want this just as much as he does.

But the moment he places his hand flat on my hip to get leverage as he leans closer, I remember where we are.

Placing a hand on his chest I stop him, and he immediately draws back.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters.

“Don’t be,” I say because the last thing I want is for him to think that I’m not on the same page. That I don’t want this as much as he does. “It’s just… not here.”

He looks around as if only now realizing where we are. Then he nods. “Yeah. Right.”

But I don’t miss the way he has to readjust his jeans with a pained look on his face as he turns ninety degrees on his stool, facing the bistro table instead of me.

I hate the break in contact. I hate how much my skin misses the closeness of his. I don’t think before I act, my hand resting on his bouncing leg before I can stop myself. He doesn’t miss a beat. His hand covers mine in a second, as if it to lock it there, no chance of getting out. Which is exactly how I feel right now. No chance of getting out of these feelings. I’m powerless against them, and I’m not even sure I want to fight them.

When Cam gets back to our table, Winter gently softens the grip on my hand, giving me the chance to pull it away, but I don’t. I can’t. I need to touch him like a plant needs the sun. It’s inevitable. He suppresses a smile when he realizes I’m not moving.

“So?” I ask Cam, trying to ignore how my entire body is so aware of Winter by my side. How every inch of my skin seems to be drawn to his, needing to close the distance between us. “Did you talk to her?”

“She’s on her way.” He gives me a winning smile.

I should’ve known this was going to happen, and yet I’m not prepared when it does.

I remember too late that Cam’s car is a two-seater, and I can’t ride home with him and Julia. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Not when she confessed to me that he’d ask her to come over to his place and she wanted to go. I rather die than cockblock my sister.

So, here I am, standing in front of Winter’s car as he opens the door for me. That intense smell of leather, wood, and cinnamon invade my senses the moment I climb into the passenger seat. Instead of closing the door, he holds it open as he stares at me.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. I pull the hem of my dress down my thigh, but it doesn’t change much. Most of my leg is exposed, and Winter doesn’t hide that it’s exactly where his eyes are roaming.

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