Never (Never, #1) (38)

“No!” I stare him in the eyes. “I’m yelling because I’m angry at you!”

He stares at me for a few seconds, blinking. Five times, to be precise. I counted them. They demanded me to.

Blink. Blink-blink. Blink. Blink.

“Girl…” Peter ducks to hold my gaze. “Why are you angry at me?”

I do try my best to glare up at him, to remain angry, but it’s difficult. Counterintuitive almost? It’s not what you want to do.

I remind myself that being cross at a man is one of a woman’s main advantages in life and love, so I cross my arms over my chest and try my best to look like I’m not thinking about his shoulders and how big they are.

“‘Girl’ is not my name.”

“Daphne.” He tilts his head the other way. “Beautiful Daphne.”

I turn my back to him for the sole purpose of making him fight for me more.

“Clever Daphne,” he says, moving around me so we’re face-to-face again, one hand on my waist, the other on my arm. “Infinitely-more-beautiful-and-clever-than-everyone-else-in-the-entire-universe-except-for-me Daphne.”

I roll my eyes at that, yet still, I’m swooning a tiny bit on the inside.

“Girl, why are you angry?”

I breathe out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding.

“You spent the day with Calla,” I tell him, trying my best not to sound pouty about it, even if I am a bit.

“Today, you mean?”

“A bit.” I shrug.

Peter gives me a grumpy look. “Well, don’t be angry for just a bit.”

I put my hands on my hips. “And about a hundred other days since I’ve been here.”

“Have I?” he asks, curious.

“Yes.”

He thinks about it, like it’s news to him. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, not wanting to sound stupid but absolutely feeling it either way. “You touch her, and you pay all your attention to her and—”

He’s smiling now, pleased. Like he knew all along what he does with her, and he just wanted to make me say it out loud.

“You don’t like it,” he says, frowning a little, thinking about it. And it may be worth noting that I think he’s really, actually thinking about it.

I put my nose in the air, indignant. “No.”

He lifts his eyebrows a tiny bit. “Were you jealous?”

I purse my lips, feeling stupid again and hating it. “Yes.”

Peter nods once, frowning, as he licks his bottom lip. “What’s that word you say that’s for thimbles? But it’s the fake word, not the real word?”

I give him a look and a curt smile. “Thimbles is the fake word. Kissing is the real word.”

He blows air out of his mouth. “Kissing’s not a real word.”

“It definitely is.” I nod emphatically.

He gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “A kiss goes on your finger.”

“A kiss can go anywhere!”

“Well, I’d like to put one on your mouth,” he tells me unflinchingly.

“Oh,” I say rather quietly. I swallow, my heart suddenly bouncing around like a bird trying to get out of a cage. “Now?”

He takes a step closer towards me, swallows once himself. “Yes.”

“Okay.” I nod.

He tilts his head. “Ready?”

I just nod. I don’t have words left in my body now, just jitters.

And then he just stands there.

He doesn’t do…anything. He stands there, toe-to-toe with me, eyes open and staring at me.

I stare up at him. “You said you’ve kissed lots of girls.”

“I have.” He breathes out, looking confused and frustrated. “This is different.”

“Why?” I ask, and my voice sounds quiet. Nervous, maybe.

Peter shrugs. “Just is.”

“Okay.” I nod. “Do you know what to do?”

He scowls at me. “Course I do.”

I stare up at him, his eyes rounder than they were a moment ago.

“Okay.” I flash him a quick smile and take his left hand. “Well, as you’d know then, your hand goes on my waist, here, like this—” I place it on me.

Peter nods once. Swallows. “And this hand?”

“Here, if you like.” I wrap it around my lower back.

He nods again.

“My hand”—I lift it up to his cheek, laying it on it gently—“will go here.”

“Just like I knew it,” he says, voice low and throaty.

He swallows, and I get on my tiptoes.

“And then, of course, you close your eyes,” I whisper, and his eyes squeeze shut.

I stare at him for a few seconds, lock it away in the keepsake box in my mind, make sure I remember forever the splendor of the moment, how he looks right now, this tender clash of innocence and growing up.

And then, slowly, I press my lips against his.

I feel the sea kicking up around our ankles, and the sand under out feet pulls away and it feels like I’m sinking—maybe I am?—the smell of flowers blooming, and I swear to you, I felt butterflies flapping against our cheeks, kissing us as we kiss each other.