“Picture it. Freshman year. Frat party. Hayden and I get super drunk. Some frat boys are playing truth or dare, and we join them. Hayden took the dare, and they dared us to kiss. With open mouths and tongues. We were drunk enough that we did exactly that.” I start giggling all over again when I see the wondrous expression on Caleb’s face.
“Does Tony know about this?” Caleb asks, clearing his throat. “Uh…interaction between you two?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Hayden told him. Maybe not.” I shrug.
“How was it?” he asks.
“How was what?”
“Kissing Hayden?”
“Oh. Nice. Soft. Girls are softer.” I laugh because I know I’m torturing him. “You like soft kisses, Caleb?”
“I’m not much of a kisser.” He pulls into our apartment parking lot, and I’m a little disappointed. I was so enjoying this crazy conversation.
“Wait a minute.” I turn to look at him as he steers the car into an empty spot. “You don’t like kissing?”
“I like it, but I said I’m not much of a kisser. Kissing is…” He stops, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Kissing is what?” I prompt.
“So personal.” He puts the vehicle in park and cuts the engine before his gaze finds mine. “Girls read too much into kissing.”
“Caleb.” My voice is soft and he leans in a little, as if he needs to hear what I’m about to say. “Kissing is the absolute best. Why would you avoid it?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs, uncomfortable. “Like I said, it’s personal. I make out with a girl, next thing I know she thinks she should start planning our wedding.”
“Your ego is ginormous,” I tell him without hesitation.
“I know. But fuck, G. It’s true. I’m not looking to fall in love. I’m looking to get off. And kissing a girl is—romantic.” He makes a face the moment the word leaves his lips.
“You’re not a romantic?” I already know this about him. I’m just giving him grief.
“Hell to the no.”
“So you don’t like kissing?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I just don’t do it much,” he corrects.
I’m suddenly filled with the urge to kiss him. He has a beautiful mouth. Big, pillowy lips. His lower lip is plumper than the upper one, and they kind of form a natural pout that is so adorable.
Adorably kissable.
“That should be outlawed,” I say with absolute conviction.
“What, kissing?”
I shake my head. “Not kissing. People should kiss! It’s the best thing. I love kissing a man. Tongues and lips and sighs and moans.” A sigh leaves me as I sink into the seat, trying to come up with the memory of a really good, delicious kiss, but I’m drawing a blank. All I can focus on is Caleb’s lips and what they might taste like. “When you kiss someone for the first time and a thrill ripples through you as you learn each other. Don’t you want to know what a girl tastes like?”
“This conversation is getting stranger and stranger,” he says, avoiding my question.
I lightly smack his arm, my fingers grazing his bare skin. He’s firm and warm and solid as a damn rock. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He studies me, sliding his tongue along his lower lip slowly, like he’s assessing me as his next meal. It’s sexy. Even with his confession that he doesn’t kiss much, I am tempted to do exactly that. Kiss him. Taste him. Nibble his lower lip. Suck on his tongue. Whatever.
“When it comes to you, I know I’m missing pretty much everything,” he says, his voice low. “Which is a damn shame.”
The air in the car becomes charged with his admission. My entire body pulls taut like a wire stretched too tight. Air lodges in my throat and I wait for him to say something. Do something.