Maybe it was the words, or maybe the tone. Maybe it was the way he’d just told her something about himself, or how he’d taken her hand earlier and saved her from her misery. Her knight in black armor. Maybe it was none of it, maybe it was all of it, maybe it was always going to happen. Still—it didn’t matter. Suddenly, it just didn’t matter, the why of it, the how. The after. All Olive cared about was that she wanted to, right now, and that seemed enough to make it all right.
It was all so slow: the step forward she took to come to stand between his knees, the rise of her hand to his face, the way her fingers cupped his jaw. Slow enough that he could have stopped her, he could have pulled out of reach, he could have said something—and he did not. He simply looked up at her, his eyes a clear, liquid brown, and Olive’s heart at once jumped and quieted when he tilted his head and leaned into her palm.
It didn’t surprise her, how soft his skin was beneath the night stubble, how much warmer than hers. And when she bent, for once taller than him, the shape of his lips under hers was like an old song, familiar and easy. It wasn’t their first kiss, after all. Though, it was different. Calm and tentative and precious, Adam’s hand light on her waist as he tilted his chin up to her, eager and pressing, like this was something he’d thought of—like he’d been wanting it, too. It wasn’t their first kiss, but it was the first kiss that was theirs, and Olive savored it for long moments. The texture, the smell, the closeness. The slight hitch in Adam’s breath, the odd pauses, the way their lips had to work a little before finding the right angles and some form of coordination.
See? She wanted to say, triumphant. To whom, she wasn’t sure. See? It was always going to be like this. Olive grinned into his lips. And Adam—
Adam was already shaking his head when she pulled back, like a no had been waiting in his mouth all along, even as he returned her kiss. His fingers closed tight around her wrist, drawing her hand away from his face. “This is not a good idea.”
Her smile faded. He was right. He was completely right. He was also wrong. “Why?”
“Olive.” He shook his head again. Then his hand left her waist and came up to his lips, as if to touch the kiss they’d just shared, make sure it had really happened. “This is . . . no.”
He really was right. But . . . “Why?” she repeated.
Adam’s fingers pressed into his eyes. His left hand was still holding her wrist, and she wondered distractedly if he was even aware of it. If he knew that his thumb was swiping back and forth across her pulse. “This is not what we’re here for.”
She could feel her nostrils flare. “That doesn’t mean that—”
“You’re not thinking clearly.” He swallowed visibly. “You’re upset and drunk, and—”
“I had two beers. Hours ago.”
“You’re a grad student, currently depending on me for a place to stay, and even if not, the power I have over you could easily turn this into a coercive dynamic that—”
“I’m—” Olive laughed. “I’m not feeling coerced, I—”
“You’re in love with someone else!”
She almost recoiled. The way he spit out the words was that heated. It should have put her off, driven her away, once and for all drilled into her head how ridiculous this was, how disastrous an idea. It didn’t, though. By now the moody, ill-tempered ass Adam meshed so well with her Adam, the one who bought her cookies and checked her slides and let her cry into his neck. There might have been a time when she couldn’t quite reconcile the two, but they were all so clear now, the many faces of him. She wouldn’t want to leave behind any of them. Not one.
“Olive.” He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. The idea that he might be thinking of the woman who Holden mentioned flashed into her mind and slipped away, too painful to entertain.