“What’s with the cat?” The words tumble out of my mouth, desperate for something normal to focus on. Like words. I can make normal human words.
Her laugh bubbles up, bright and unexpected. The sound makes my insides churn in all new terrifying ways.
“She’s new. I just adopted her, I think.” She frowns over at the backpack. Then her eyes snap back to me. “Hey, you’re rich, right?”
“Um. I—” The question catches me completely off guard. Everything out of her mouth is just one surprise after another. “I dunno. I guess. I mean?—”
She hops down from the hood of the car, saving me from my own stammering.
And suddenly she’s right there, tugging the Tootsie Pop out of her mouth.
Standing right in front of me.
Close enough that I can see the individual flecks of gold in her green eyes. Close enough that I catch her scent—something floral and sweet, like honeysuckle on a summer night, mixed with something earthier. Weed, maybe, and underneath that, just...her.
Her expression has shifted. The sarcastic smirk is gone, replaced by something raw and honest that hits me square in the chest. She’s looking at me like she’s about to tell me something important, maybe one of those secrets, and the weight of it makes my breath catch.
“The only real family I got is back in East Texas.” Her voice has gone soft, stripped of all the playful mockery. “In a little shit-stain of a town called Selbyville that’s downwind of a chicken factory. And I’d do anything to get back there.”
The last part comes out barely above a whisper. Not a statement—almost like a prayer. Or a confession.
And then she’s lifting her arms, wrapping them around my neck.
I freeze.
My brain’s firing on all cylinders, trying to process what’s happening. New Girl—this beautiful, sharp-tongued, impossible girl—has her arms around me. I can feel the warmth of her skin where her wrists rest against the back of my neck. I can smell her shampoo, something citrus and clean that cuts through the sweetness.
She leans in.
My eyes fall closed on instinct.
Her lips brush against mine. Once. Feather-light, testing.
Twice. Lingering a fraction longer.
And then she’s actually kissing me.
Holy shit,she’s kissing me.
Her mouth is soft and sweet from the Tootsie Pop, and when her tongue peeks out to trace the seam of my lips, I open for her without thinking. One of her hands slides from my neck down over my shoulder, fingers trailing down my arm. I groan low in my throat before I can stop myself.
My hands move of their own accord, finding her waist. My fingers grip, pressing into the curve where her ribs meet her hips. This is not safe. This was definitely not on the schedule. But I tilt my head to deepen thekiss anyway because apparently my body has completely overridden my brain.
She makes this small sound—not quite a gasp, not quite a moan—and her arm tightens around my neck, anchoring me to her. I can feel her heartbeat where her chest presses against mine, fast and hard, matching my own racing pulse.
This is insane.
This is reckless.
This is the best thing I’ve ever felt in my entire carefully controlled, bullshit life.
I pull her closer, desperate to eliminate every molecule of space between us. She tastes like grape and possibility and danger, and I’m drowning in it, drowning in her, and I don’t want to come up for air.
Her fingers find the knot of my tie, tugging it loose?—
And then she’s dancing away.
Just like that.