“And it will be so much better than what MagTech is doing.”
“We’d have a final prototype in . . . weeks. Days.” He rubs his mouth. “This is a fantastic idea.”
I jump up and down excitedly. It’s obnoxious, but I can’t stop myself. Where does all this energy go when I try to run? “Am I a genius, or what?”
He shakes his head even as he says, “You are.”
“Should we go to the lab? Start working on it?”
“Before the cleaning crew has a chance to disinfect your desk?”
“Good point. But I need to do something.”
He smiles fondly. “Maybe you can keep jumping up and down?”
“I’m starting to get tired, actually.”
“Okay, then . . .” He shrugs, and before I know what’s going on I’m in his arms and he’s spinning me around, my legs wrapped around his waist and his hands on my thighs.
I laugh. I laugh like I’m happy. What a weekend. I’m a feather. I’m invincible. I’m doing science. I’m having fun. I’m building things, useful, important things. I’m facing demons from my past. I’m being whirled around when I’m too tired to do it myself. I’m bubbling, exhilarated, brave. I’m the most myself and not myself at all. I’m tightening my hands around Levi’s neck, and when he slows down I’m asking him, “Are you going to kiss me?”
No idea where that came from. But I’m not sorry it’s out there.
His smile doesn’t falter, but he shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says quietly. Strands of purple hair brush against his forehead. His cheeks. We are close, so close. He smells so good.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not sure you want me to kiss you.”
“Oh.” I nod. My hair tickles his nose. He scrunches it, and I laugh. “What if I told you that I do? Would you kiss me then?”
“I still don’t think so,” he says calmly. Seriously.
My smile fades. Oh, shit. Shit, I made a mess. “You don’t want to?” My voice is small, insecure. He shakes his head.
“That’s not it.”
It must be. What else? “Right.” I’ve been in his arms for a while, but suddenly I feel self-conscious. He’s not okay with this. He used to be attracted to me, but not anymore. I’m overstepping. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to go too far.”
“You don’t understand, Bee.” A small smile. Our foreheads touch, his skin warm against mine. I really, really want a kiss from this man. I want it bad enough to burn. “You can’t go too far.”
“Then why . . . ?”
His eyes flutter closed. His lips move closer. “I’m terrified that you won’t go far enough.”
When Tim kissed her for the first time—after a screening of 2001: A Space Odyssey, which I later found out he slept through—eighteen-year-old Bee called her sister to say she’d had the loveliest of kisses. But eighteen-year-old Bee was a fool. Eighteen-year-old Bee had no idea. Eighteen-year-old Bee overrated that Tim wasn’t overly clumsy and brushed his teeth. And twenty-eight-year-old Bee would consider going back in time to slap her upside the head, but she’s busy having a real, true, actual, honest-to-God good kiss.
The best kiss.
It has to do with how slow it starts. With the way Levi and I breathe against each other for a moment, just breathe and taste the air between us. It should feel ridiculous, but there’s something unique about how he looks at my mouth from lowered eyelashes. Wrapped around him like I am, I can feel his pounding heartbeat, the heat of his skin, and suddenly I’m not scared anymore. He wants this—he wants me. I know it in the liquid, messy warmth of my abdomen, in the red spreading over his cheekbones, in his breathing, even faster and louder than mine.
“Bee.”
The tension stretches so unbearably tight, we might as well be on different sides of the world. So I close the distance, and then it’s not slow anymore. It’s hard and fast and open-mouthed. Wet and pressing and half bites. It’s messy, the least smooth kiss of my life—but maybe it’s not a kiss at all. Just two people trying to be as close as possible. His hands are sliding up my ass. My nails are in his scalp. He grunts choppy, surprised praise into my throat—“Yeah. Yeah.”—licks the dip of my collarbone, and I’m on fire, half a minute of this and I’m already aflame, pulsating with want and need. I have no brakes: I grind myself helplessly against him, my nipples hard against his chest, his hard abs the perfect slate for my core to rub on.