Page 106 of How To Plot a Payback

“And then . . . we kiss.”

I mean to say this loudly.

I mean to let go of her and tell the group.

I mean to.

And yet here I am, realizing that I haven’t released Lavender as we stand nearly nose to nose. I’m not addressing the group. Instead, I’ve murmured.

Lavender raises a brow. “I’m aware of the prompt, Finn.”

Do not kiss her.

I hold steady.

I’m letting her go.

I’m telling her, without saying it, We can be done now. We’ve played the game for everyone. We don’t need to go so far as to kiss.

With great self-control my fingers loosen their grip.

I’m moments away from releasing her entirely.

From stepping back, out of this haze, to say the show has ended.

Then a tiny crease forms between her brows. Her next words are hushed. “Oh come now, Finn. Are you a real actor or not?”

Her words break what little self-restraint I had with the force of a hammer on a sheet of glass. I close the gap between us.

Distant cheers ring around us.

My hand finds the back of her neck.

And we are kissing just like it says on the page. Passionately.

Just like Ashley and Lance should be, as they realize they have found each other once more and don’t want to give each other up ever, ever again.

My lips find hers and catch fire, startled by how perfectly they mold to mine. Papers flutter to the ground as I take her by the waist and draw her closer, breathing her in. The world around us slips away until it’s us. Just us. Lavender and me. As, in a way, for me, it has always been.

If I don’t break this off, I’ll go up in a blaze and be reduced to ash. I sweep over the softness of her cheek, the tenderness of her temple. The ear that listens to the song of the goldfinch in the morning and offers up an appreciative smile. The chin that lifts in gleeful defiance in conversation as her eyes cut my way.

I realize as we break apart that I’m breathing raggedly. “Is that enough acting for you?”

Her smile twists, face as flushed as I know mine must be. Her own chest rising and falling rapidly. “Nearly.”

Nearly enough acting, or nearly enough kiss? I want to ask, but instead I scoop up the fallen script to hide my question. “And that’s the end of a pretty rough scene,” I say to the group. My lips are still tingling. My jaw aching. Heart pounding. “As I said before”—I point my script at each member of the group—“no snitching. Alright. Let’s clean up.”

The group gives us resounding applause, and with energy to spare (and enough embarrassment to last a lifetime) I pick up the closest thing to me to put it away.

A jug of orange juice and stack of cups.

I don’t want to admit what just happened.

My mind right now is a disco band. Glittering lights and noise everywhere, so that no single distinct thought has the opportunity to rise above the others. All I know is I’m a mess. Lavender Rhodes takes my well-laid plans and throws them out the window, and no matter what, I can’t ever seem to take control of the situation around her.

I plan to destroy her but backtrack to the point of apology.

I plan to stay as far away from her as possible but end up beside her.