I don’t answer.
“Emerald?” The smile in his voice is evident.
“Yes?”
“How was your day at work?”
“Great.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
“Nope.”
“Is it safe to say the highlight of your day was telling your friend I fucked you with my mouth?”
“That was not a highlight.” I turn around to face him, knowing that I’m blushing again. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I’m not.” He grins as we approach a stoplight. “I was just wondering what I needed to say to get you to finally turn around and look at me. I feel like I’ve been driving alone for the past forty five minutes.”
“Sorry.”
He kisses me. “It’s okay. Seriously, how was your day?”
“Nothing special.” I see the glare of the green light ahead of us and notice him moving away from me so he can drive, but I put my hand over the gears. “Can I tell you something else personal?”
“Right now?”
I nod.
He looks into his rearview mirror—probably noticing that we’re the only car on the road, so he puts the car in park. “I’m listening.”
“I think I really like you.”
“You said something personal, not something obvious.”
“No.” I shake my head. “You don’t understand. I like you.”
He looks confused.
“I’ve never just liked anyone before. I’ve always pretended that I did so I could use them for something or get something out of them down the line. I thought that was how it was supposed to be. But with you, I don’t want anything but more of you...”
For years, I’ve read about these types of emotions in books—watched it in movies, but I’ve always thought that they were confined to the realm of fiction. Whenever I’d see couples smiling and laughing together, I’d thought they were putting on a show for the world—pretending to enact things they’d only read about.
“I think about you during random times of the day and I really want to call or text you, but I don’t because I’m not sure if that’s right or not...I jump sometimes when you call me at night—literally jump and get excited because I know we’re going to be talking and laughing for hours. And I don’t think I’ve ever lost my smile when you pick me up and take me to and from work. I actually hate when the ride comes to an end. The only thing that makes me smile again is knowing that I’ll be back with you in a matter of hours. I just...I really like you.” I make myself stop. That babble was so incoherent and disjointed that I’m shocked he isn’t laughing in my face right now.
He’s probably laughing on the inside—wondering how to tell me that I’m a certified psycho and how I need to purchase a bus pass for the rest of the summer.
Several minutes pass without him saying a word, with him just staring at me, so I start to turn away.
“Stop.” He brushes his thumb against my lips. “Is that everything?”
“Yes. Are you going to tell me that I’m crazy now?”
“No.” He presses his lips against mine, whispering against my mouth, “I’m going to tell you that I really like you too.” He kisses me again, but then he tears his mouth away. “I need you to spend the night with me tonight. I don’t want to take you home.”
I nod and let him take my breath away with another kiss, trying my hardest to let him know that he can take me right here, right now, but he’s too much of a gentleman.
He speeds to his apartment with his hand tightly clasping mine, letting the soft sounds of the radio serve as the only noise between us.
The second we arrive at his place and he helps me out of the car, his lips latch onto mine and his hands are all over me.
Kissing each other with no regard for anyone who might be watching, we stumble into his apartment—nearly knocking over one of his paintings.
“Sorry,” I murmur as he presses my back against a wall, as I continue to kiss him like my life depends on it.
He doesn’t say anything in response. He slides his hands behind my back and finds the zipper of my dress, pulling it down with more grace than he’s currently using to kiss me.
“Step out of it,” he orders, briefly releasing my lips, but not stepping back.
I use my thumb to push the haltered part down my shoulder, and let the rest of the dress slowly slide down to the floor.
As his tongue meets mine again, I unbuckle his belt—gasping when my hands brush against the hardness in his pants. I hook my thumbs under his belt loops, but he grabs my hands and forces them over my head—pinning them to the wall.