“Hi,” he said, and his voice came out steadier than the way his fingers tightened on his backpack strap.
“Hi,” I managed. My brain had short-circuited. “You, uh. You look…”
“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” he said quickly, like he needed to explain. “So I just— This seemed fine.”
“It’s more than fine,” I said. “It’s…you look really good.”
His cheeks went pink. He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him, suddenly very aware of the sweatpants and hoodie I’d settled on.
“I’ve been dressing up and down all day,” I blurted. “I couldn’t decide what to wear. I put on nice clothes, then I took them off, then I put them back on. I did push-ups. Twice. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Bennet bit his lip. His shoulders shook slightly.
“What?” I asked.
He shook his head, trying and failing to hold back a smile. “Nothing. Just…” He laughed, quiet and breathless, his face going redder. “It just crossed my mind that you won’t be dressed for long. So it doesn’t matter.”
The air left my lungs.
“Is that so?” I asked. My voice had dropped lower, rougher.
Bennet’s gaze flicked up to meet mine. His pupils were wide and dark. “Don’t want to be overly analytical, but isn’t that why you invited me?”
My pulse sped up. I stepped closer. Close enough to see the way his breath quickened. Close enough to catch the faint scent of whatever he’d put on before coming here.
I reached out and hooked a finger under one of his suspenders. The elastic was smooth, slightly worn. I slid it down slowly, feeling the tension give, the fabric passing between my fingers.
“Don’t need to pass Stats to calculate that probability,” I said.
Bennet’s mouth parted. He licked his lips, and his smile broke through, uncontrollable and bright. “If this is your idea of talking dirty to me…it’s working.”
I laughed. The sound came out low and helpless.
Then I stepped forward, backing him against the door, and kissed him.
His backpack hit the floor.
His hands came up to my chest, fisting in my hoodie, pulling me closer. I pressed into him, one hand braced on the door beside his head, the other sliding to his waist.
He kissed me back like he’d been waiting for this. Like he’d been holding his breath since the locker room and could finally let go.
I tilted my head, deepening the kiss. His mouth opened under mine, warm and eager. He tasted faintly of mint, like he’d brushed his teeth right before coming over.
The thought made something in my chest twist painfully.
I broke away just long enough to breathe. “You’re killing me,” I said against his mouth.
“Good,” he whispered and kissed me again.
We kept kissing. The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the heat of his body against mine, the small sounds he made when I tilted my head and changed the angle.
My hands moved. One slid to the small of his back, fingers spreading over the fabric of his shirt. The other found his hip, thumb brushing the strip of skin where his shirt had come untucked.
Bennet’s hands weren’t idle either. They’d moved from my chest to my shoulders, gripping, pulling me closer. His fingers slid into my curls, tugging slightly, and I groaned into his mouth.
He made a quiet noise in response, half gasp, half whimper. It went straight through me.
I pressed closer, our bodies flush now, no space between us. I could feel everything. The rise and fall of his chest. The flutter of his pulse wheremy thumb rested against his throat. The way his hips shifted forward, seeking more contact.