Page 12 of How to Get Lucky
And right now, the physical is front and center in my mind. “But, of course, I’d welcome your opinion, as a professional choreographer,” I add.
“Since you asked, I’d want to know . . . what exactly would that earlobe kiss feel like? I mean, if you had the chance to try it out on a date.” Her tone is soft, even more inviting than before. “Say, after sushi, on a dimly lit patio.”
I move closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “It would probably feel something like this.”
5
I bring my face near hers, our cheeks grazing. Her breath catches as my lips make their way across her jaw. Gently, I kiss along the top of her ear, nuzzling my nose into her hair. I inhale her scent, like freshly peeled oranges, as I kiss delicately along the outside of her ear. I take the lobe into my mouth and suck gently as she exhales on a soft moan, letting me know she’s into this as much as I am. I file that intel away—how she murmurs when I kiss here right there.
Let’s see if she likes this—I bury my nose in that perfect spot behind her ear where her hair meets her neck and give her a firm kiss and a soft bite. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to let her know I want to leave one.
I linger a second longer, cupping her face with my other hand, breathing with her. Her skin prickles, my heart races, and I lean back to take her in. Her eyes glimmer with the first sparks of lust. Her lips part the slightest bit.
She looks blissed out. I feel the same.
After another heady moment where the air between us is still charged, she takes a drink of water, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. “That’s pretty good. I suspect if you did that on a date, the woman would find it very . . . tasteful.”
“Good to know. Also, maybe she’d find it . . . hot?” I ask, going fishing.
She nibbles on the corner of her lips, her cheeks flushing. “She would.”
My pulse spikes, and yes, yes, yes. My luck is all changing tonight. “Hopefully that opportunity will present itself one day.”
“I hope so too . . .”
But before I can even entertain the idea of trying another kiss on her, our server returns to clear our plates. We order a green tea ice cream to split, and I hope that dessert never arrives because I could sit here with her all night.
She drums her fingers on the table, then draws a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you, Teddy, that I’m having a great time. But . . .”
My stomach plummets like a weight, sinking me. Nothing good can follow but.
“I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, and I feel like I’ve been kind of forward with the flirting, and . . .” She stops, an apology crossing her warm brown eyes, and that look sinks me a little further. “And the kissing.” She stops again, flapping her hand in front of her face like she’s waving away the awkward.
I wish her success with that because I want it gone too. I have no clue where she’s going with this except no place good.
“Which I really liked,” she adds in a rush, and her tone sounds legit.
She doesn’t seem like she’s dealing me a line. An it’s not you, it’s me send-off.
Everything about her vibe feels real.
I want to convince myself that’s a good sign, but liked, as in past tense, isn’t what I want with London. I don’t want there to be anything past tense about our kissing. Or any kind of tense.
But . . .
“And that’s my worry,” she says, a little more professional maybe. Distant, even. “Because I got ahead of myself, focusing just on the date part. Which I completely want and wanted. I’m having so much fun with you, and I think you’re so great, but I also did want to talk to you about a project. And I don’t want to forget in the midst of all that kissing.”
That should make me feel better.
But it doesn’t.
“Right. The project,” I say evenly. I don’t want to let on that I’d hoped it would be a sex project. It’s probably something miserable involving PowerPoints or spreadsheets or other shit I hate. Like maybe she wants me to make a spreadsheet of all her favorite music.
I like London, and I’ll do a lot for a woman I’m into, but I draw the line at spreadsheets.
She smiles widely, going for the close. “See, I thought we could pair up, because I’m working for the club too.”
I flinch.
What did she just say?
“You work for the club?” Each word comes out occupying its own real estate.
Because this is Road Runner dropping the anvil and then painting the tunnel on the brick wall. And I just ran smack into it.
