Then again, she’d misjudged this kind of thing before.
“Why didn’t you kiss me?” she asked.
Immediately, she wished there were a randomly generated number that would allow her to shove the words back down her throat. Especially when his eyes searched her face, a line creasing his forehead. He had no idea what she was talking about. He probably didn’t even remember. He’d blocked it from his memory . . .
“I didn’t think you’d want me to,” he said.
She swallowed. Now that she’d gone this far out on this limb, she supposed she might as well inch out a little more. “There was mistletoe,” she said. “It’s like . . . a rule.”
“You never struck me as a stickler for Christmas tradition.”
He was right, of course. The year before, she’d railed against Secret Santa, of all things. She couldn’t be surprised when he then assumed she’d want nothing to do with something as silly and inappropriate as kissing under the mistletoe. She was sorry she’d brought it up.
“I’m a stickler for most things,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “In case you hadn’t noticed. Like I just realized I broke the rules of our game by asking that question, so please. Disregard it.”
“What if I want to regard it?”
Lauren’s gaze met his before skittering away. She had no idea what he meant by that, was scared to even consider the possibilities. Time to climb down from this tree.
“It’s seriously late,” she said. “And we both have work tomorrow . . . which is a little ironic, since we’re currently at work.”
He rubbed his hands on his jean-clad thighs. They were sitting close enough that the motion ruffled the hem of her skirt a little, caused it to flip up and reveal the barest extra millimeter of skin. It was such a micro movement, and yet Lauren noticed it. Somehow, she knew Asa had, too.
“You got an unauthorized question,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s only fair if I get one.”
She lifted her chin. “Fine. In the interest of fairness.”
“Did you want me to kiss you?”
Don’t look at his mouth. Don’t look at his mouth. She was trying to keep her cool during this conversation, and it wouldn’t work if she saw his lips forming those words. She knew it was useless to deny it outright—why would she have even brought it up in the first place? At the same time, this conversation felt like a minefield, and she was scared to take the next step.
“I thought it would be nice,” she said finally, smoothing the crinkled hem of her skirt back down. “It’s kind of a nice tradition.”
“No,” he said, tilting his head, like he was trying to get her attention, or searching her face for an answer to some question. It was impossible not to look up, not to stare at his mouth. There was a small scar on his lower lip, a perfect circle that must’ve been from a piercing at some point. She watched the corner of his mouth, waiting for it to quirk up, for a sign that he was laughing at her. But for once, he looked completely serious.
“I meant, did you want me to kiss you?”
The emphasis on that one word said it all. He wasn’t asking if she wanted a generic mistletoe kiss at a holiday party. He was asking if she cared that the kiss came specifically from him.
Even a few weeks ago, Lauren would’ve said of course not. She barely knew Asa Williamson, and what she knew of him made it clear a friendship between them would be unlikely. Anything more than friendship even more unlikely. He was well-liked, easygoing, and confident. She was uptight and nervous and shy. He’d probably kissed a dozen people for no reason other than he felt like it, whereas she was always holding back, scared to put herself out there for fear of rejection.
That same instinct told her now that this would all be over if she simply said no, not you. It could’ve been anyone, she could say. You just happened to be there.
Instead she said one word, which came out more like a sigh. “Yes.”
His hand clenched on his knee. She could feel him humming with a low frequency beside her—although maybe that was a projection, an echo of the unbearable tension she felt in her own body. She pressed her thighs together, taking a deep breath to slow her heart rate.
She glanced at him, trying to give him a look like Well, this is awkward, but he didn’t look capable of cracking his usual joke.
“Let me make it up to you,” he said. And then his fingers were at her jaw, tilting her face toward his, and his mouth was on hers.