Page 33 of Rookie's Shot
Not anymore.
I pull a chair out and sit down at the laptop.
"Yeah." I crack my knuckles once. "I can find them."
CHAPTER FIVE
Saylor
Three days after he kissed me, and my mouth still remembers.
Not the pressure. The intent.
The way he said ‘tell me to walk away’ like he meant it, and the way I didn't tell him.
The way his palm found my waist without hesitation once permission was given.
Nobody has ever touched me like I was both fragile and dangerous at the same time.
I've been touched before. Boyfriends in high school, brief and forgettable.
A hookup freshman year at a party I left early because the boy was sloppy and the room smelled like Natty Light.
Well, that and the fact I couldn't stop thinking about what my name would do to his face if he Googled me in the morning.
Those were transactions. Bodies meeting because bodies meet. No meaning underneath it. Almost transactional, in a way.
The kiss at Backroads was neither of those things.
It was a man pressing his mouth to mine and meaning it with every pound of his body.
I kissed him back like I was furious about how much I wanted him.
It was real and terrifying, and I’ve been replaying it behind my eyelids for seventy-two hours.
He texted the following morning. Short, no pressure:
Had to handle something at the club. You okay?
I texted back:
I'm okay. You?
He didn’t waste any time replying:
Better now.
Two words. I read them four times.
We haven't talked about the kiss.
At our last shift at Backroads, we moved around each other behind the bar the same way we always do. Except now the space between us is charged, and we're both pretending it isn't.
He still hasn't told me his name.
Now it’s Saturday morning and my phone is ringing at a god-awful hour.
It takes me half a second to realize it’s my mom.
