“You made it,” Nathan says, giving me a one-armed hug. “Where’s Selena?”
“Somewhere inside.” I check my phone and send her a quick message letting her know I’m in the backyard.
While I’m on my phone, Nathan greets the other people out here. There’s a handful of them, all of them carrying red plastic cups or bottles of IPA. Okay, I can do this. Its way more relaxed out here. I shove my hands in my pockets, or try to, anyway. It turns out these stupid jeans are way too tight to fit even a pinky in. Nathan introduces me to his friends, whose names I immediately forget, but when I tell them mine, a couple of them light up and glance at Nathan, who narrows his eyes back at them. My heart clatters against my rib cage. Does that mean he’s told his friends about me? DOES THAT MEAN HE LOVES ME IN A MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS WAY?
Okay, slow down, bunny boiler. It doesn’t mean anything. A girl hands me a bottle of IPA and holds out a bottle opener to me. “Just hang it on that hook when you’re done.” She points at a hook that’s been nailed onto a tree in the middle of the yard.
I do as she told me, and when I turn around from the tree, I walk right into Nathan’s chest. “Oof.”
“You okay? Sorry, I thought you knew I was right behind you.”
I rub my nose. “Geez, are you wearing a breastplate under your shirt?”
He flexes his biceps dramatically. “What can I say? I’m just really cut.”
“More like bony.” He isn’t, though. Not by a long shot. I tear my horny eyes away from his pecs. What is it about guys’ pecs that I find so attractive? It’s like I’m a boob man, but the reverse. A pec girl. Then my gaze lands on Nathan’s hands, and I think, Mmm, he has nice hands. Maybe I’m a hand girl. Or maybe I’m just a Nathan everything girl.
I lean back against the tree trunk in an effort to look, well, effortless, but that turns out to be a massive mistake. Pro tip: don’t lean against a tree trunk when wearing a backless top. “Shit,” I hiss, rubbing at my back. “What’s on this stupid tree, razor blades?”
“Um, that would be tree bark. Let me see your back.” And before I know it, Nathan’s fingers are on my bare skin. A warm, strong hand against my chilled back. My muscles melt into water. My stomach is basically a puddle. I swallow, reminding myself to breathe. “Just a scratch. You’ll live.” But his hand doesn’t leave my back. Instead, his fingers splay across it, making my entire body tingle. “You cold?”
I can barely speak as he takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders. This is it. This is when I tell him that I’ve been having sex dreams about him—no, that I have a massive crush on him, that I think he’s as perfect as humans come. His jacket’s so big it hangs off my shoulders.
“Has anyone ever told you how ridiculously tiny you are?”
“Excuse you, I am five feet two—”
“On a good day, in heels,” Nathan murmurs, giving me that dimpled smile. He pulls the jacket closed around me and gives a little tug, as if he doesn’t want to let go. I don’t want him to let go. “Hey,” he says, his voice soft velvet.
I look up and fall into his gaze. “Hey.” For once, there are no jokes, no smartass remarks, no thick layer of friendship between us. It’s just him, and me, and the chilly desert night, and string lights glowing like stars around us.
“I’m glad you came,” Nathan says.
And for once, I’m 100 percent honest with him. “I came to see you.”
That smile again, and then he dips his head, stooping low as I raise mine, and our lips meet in a soft crush that obliterates whatever other thoughts I had.
Okay, okay. Okay. I’ve kissed boys before. Okay, two boys. Okay, one of them was the back of my hand. The kiss with the other boy wasn’t great; I mean, my hand was better, honestly. I’ve never liked the look of those Hollywood open-mouthed kisses; I eat way too much fermented shrimp paste to have any qualms about me being a great kisser. When it comes to kissing, it’s closed mouth all the way for me.
But this. Holy shit. Nathan is the perfect counter to my prudish mouth. His lips are soft, and his breath is a heady mix of rum and mint, and he doesn’t just slip his tongue in like Christian Miller did in ninth grade. Nathan takes his time, touching his lips to mine so gently, so feathery soft, until I’m a boneless, watery mass. I wrap my arms around his broad, strong shoulders for support, and he half-lifts me off my feet. And then before I know it, my mouth parts, and I’m really kissing Nathan Chan, and it is hot as hell.