Our heads stay bent together as we talk. We’re supposed to be moving toward the bar, but we’re just standing in the crowd, his hand firmly gripping my arm, my chin tilted up so I can see him properly. In the hazy bar light, he looks like a dream. All that thick hair, smooth skin, itty bitty freckles across his tan cheeks. I could measure the fullness of his lips. Could count the long black lashes that cluster together and frame his brown eyes. He has the warmth of a crackling fire and I feel like I’ll get scalded if I keep standing this close to him for too much longer. There are dangerous thoughts swirling around in my mind. Thoughts that would have Noah rolling on the ground with laughter if he could hear them. Thoughts that have cropped up in my mind once or twice over the years—mostly when I’m asleep and dreaming and therefore off the hook.
“You look like you’re really mulling something over.”
I am.
I swallow and he leans closer. “Why don’t you share it with the class?”
My eyes stay zeroed in on his lips. A bullet train could be hurtling straight for me, blaring its loud horn, and I would not break eye contact with his mouth.
“Murder. Mutilation. Blood.”
“The truth, Audrey.”
Like a hypnotized psych patient, words tumble out of me before I even realize I’m saying them. “I’m curious about how you kiss. I wonder if you ever let your partner lead or if you’re a bossy asshole about it.”
If I’ve surprised him, he doesn’t show it. Always in control, this one. Unflappable and stoic. I so rarely have the upper hand with him that I can’t resist the opportunity when it presents itself.
Truthfully, I’ve never wondered what a kiss with Noah would be like until now. Why would I ever conceive of such a thing? My efforts have been focused elsewhere: researching loopholes to get him fired, concocting elaborate plans to get him deported from the country, wielding tiny weapons of psychological warfare that drive him insane. Example: loosening the knob on his classroom door. Boy, did he hate that. Phillips screwdriver: $7.07. The look on Noah’s face when he realized what I’d done: priceless.
Lindale administration would prefer we keep our hands and mouths to ourselves, but we’re in Rome and Noah’s no rat. When I slide my hands up his shirt and creep up onto my tippy toes, I know this moment will stay between us forever.
I slip one hand underneath the back of his shirt collar then gently run the other up into the hair at the base of his head, through his soft strands, hunting for something.
“You won’t find an ‘off’ switch.”
Normally I hate that he can read my mind, but right now, it’s hilarious that I’ve been outed.
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” I say, cheeky and sweet.
His eyebrows furrow; he’s curious and intrigued. I have him on the edge of his seat. If I pulled away right now, he’d be oh so disappointed. This power feels delicious. I could go mad with it if I’m not careful.
“What are you doing, Audrey?”
“I thought I was being pretty clear,” I say, edging even closer to him, flush against his body.
Even extended to my full height, I have to tug Noah down to meet me. The milliseconds it takes for his mouth to reach mine are just enough time for a wave of panic to spike my blood.
Holy crap. What have I—
But then his lips touch mine and the floor bottoms out from underneath me. My eyes flutter closed. Gentle and tempting, he doesn’t claim my mouth like a hungry brute. He’s calculated and cunning and annoyingly good at this.
I’m kissing my enemy, and more importantly, he’s kissing me back. One hand tightens on my arm and the other is tangled in my hair now, tilting my head, angling me perfectly so he can part my lips and further this experiment. How far do you want to take this, he taunts.
I’m losing track of my objective.
Destroy Noah? Or was it something else? Something better. Sweeter. Hotter.
My hand grips his hair and he feeds me a moan.
His lips tempt me toward insanity. An innocent kiss turns into something more.
His hands have moved lower. One is tight on my waist, keeping me flush against him. The other toys with the bottom of my dress. His knuckle brushes against the bare skin of my upper thigh and my entire body clenches with want. This is indecent, even for a crowded bar. Someone should pry us apart and scold us, but either nobody notices or nobody cares.
As the kiss deepens and Noah’s tongue touches mine, I’m drawn more and more into him. It feels a little like I’m sinking into quicksand. I feel totally helpless. Defenseless. At his mercy. If he wanted to back me up, haul me on top of the bar counter, and continue this madness, I’d let him. I’d surrender, totally.