Every Time I Fall (Orchid Valley 3)

I didn’t think he’d be leaving until later, but then I see him push through the gate to the front. I chase after him without thinking, breaking into a run after the gate clangs shut behind me.

I catch him at his truck. “Dean. Wait up.”

His back is to me, but he stiffens at the sound of my voice, presses a hand to the driver’s-side door, and blows out a long breath. “It’s fine, Abbi. Seriously, I’m not going to be the asshole who chases after the girl who doesn’t want him. I’ve had my share of that.”

My heart pinches. Maybe this doesn’t have to be about me. Maybe I’ll really be doing him a favor too. Taking a chance, I reach out and press my palm between his shoulder blades, feeling the taut muscles of his broad back beneath my fingers. “Look at me.”

Slowly, he turns so he’s facing me. He leans back against the car. “Sorry. It’s like the harder I try not to be an ass, the bigger an ass I become.”

I shake my head. “Don’t apologize. Tell me how you’re feeling.”

He huffs. “Can I not?”

“I want to know.”

“Okay.” He tips his face up as if he’s studying the sky, but I know he’s just gathering his words. “I feel a little rejected, embarrassed, and a lot”—he chuckles, and his dimple flashes as he treats me to his crooked smile—“really fucking horny. Because I’m the idiot who thought this was going to happen and who’s spent way too much of his week thinking about the possibilities.”

Oh. Oh. My stomach flutters wildly, and it’s hard to breathe. I spent too much time thinking about them too, I think, but I say, “You’re not an idiot.”

“I kind of am, Abs. I misread you, and that’s on me.”

I step into him, my thighs bracketing one of his legs, and he sucks in a breath.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I said I’m scared. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested. It just means I’m scared.”

His gaze drops to my mouth again, as if he needs to see my lips form the words.

I’m a coward and can’t say it, so I take his hand in mine and guide it to cup my face. “And everything you’re feeling,” I say, leaning into his palm, “I’m feeling those things too.”

“You feel rejected? There’s not a single part of me that wants to reject you right now.”

“Um, no . . . the other part?”

He grins full-out this time. Big, toothy, real. “Horny?” There’s so much delight in those two syllables I could smack him.

“It’s such an ugly word.”

His thumb grazes the line of my jaw as he brings his other hand to my hip. “Nah. It’s just raw. Unburdened by pretense. Honest.” His smile falls away. “I want to kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

My heart, which is already racing, kicks up to a whole new tempo. “On one condition,” I say.

“Anything.”

I close my eyes, remembering all the times I denied my attraction to him even to myself, all the times I caught myself staring or eavesdropping or longing. “If this doesn’t feel right, if there’s no chemistry for you—for either of us—or if it starts to feel too weird or too scary or anything, then we stop this.”

That cute little wrinkle pops up between his brows. “Of course.”

“So we’ll kiss.” I lick my lips. They’re already tingling. I want this so much. I’m pretty sure I deserve a reward for not showing up on his doorstep this week. “Just to see if this might work.”

He nods. “Let’s just see.”

“Okay.” That word seems to flip a switch in him that brings his smile back and makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

He slowly lowers his mouth to mine. Ever since last Halloween, I’ve imagined this. Before that, I imagined it a few times too—maybe not imagining Dean kissing me, but what it’d be like to be the kind of girl he’d want to kiss, imagining being that girl and having him kiss me. Then, after Halloween, the fantasy shifted. It was no more welcome than before and completely dangerous. But the idea that Dean wanted to kiss me? Not some fictional, skinnier version of me I’m too jaded to believe I’ll ever be, but the real, imperfect, deeply flawed me? That was heady, intoxicating stuff.

I’d never admit it, but I’ve had many sleepless nights imagining his big hands holding me and his mouth on mine.

None of those fantasies compare to this.

He sweeps his mouth across mine at first. Slowly. Tentatively. Little jolts of electricity spark in my lips and down my arms. He does it again, and I feel like all the air around us snaps with heat. Chemistry is about desire and longing. It’s about moments like this. But I can’t help but worry that he doesn’t feel it too, that maybe this is just another kiss for him and not something that’ll leave him delirious.