The Heart Principle (The Kiss Quotient 3)

“It’s really . . . bright. Is it salmon color?” Still grinning, he approaches me and pulls the front together tighter, like he’s trying to keep me warm. He doesn’t seem disgusted or derisive, and it’s making me feel off-balance.

“It’s coral,” I say. “I don’t wear this and imagine I’m a tropical fish in the ocean, if that’s what you’re thinking. When I’m home, where people can’t see me, I like to wear bright colors and rainbows and things. It makes me happy. A little.”

His brow creases. “Why does it have to be where people can’t see you?”

“Because people are mean. They say things like ‘Did you see her?’ ‘I can’t believe she’s wearing that’ or they just look at each other and laugh—at me. I hate being laughed at. It used to happen a lot, but I’ve gotten better at preventing it.”

“I’ll wear rainbows out with you. I don’t give a shit,” he nearly growls as he pulls me close unexpectedly and hugs me.

I’m not used to affectionate acts like this—my family definitely isn’t touchy-feely, and neither was Julian—so it takes me a second or two to relax and rest my cheek on his chest. Wh

en I imagine badass Quan decked out in rainbows and people’s confused reactions, I smile and say, “That would be something.”

“Something awesome, yeah.”

He hugs me tighter, and happiness expands in my chest. I love this, being held by him, feeling safe.

“It was thoughtless of me to ask, but thank you for staying,” I say.

“It was no problem,” he says. “Are you feeling better now?”

“I am.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

A barrage of emotions wells up at his suggestion—fear, excitement, anxiety, uncertainty, and, greatest of all, hope—and I swallow it down. “You have somewhere you need to be, remember?”

“I can be late. It’s just kendo practice with my cousin and brother. Then teaching kids’ class later.”

“You’re the only Asian I know who actually does martial arts,” I comment, intentionally skirting around the issue.

He laughs. “I guess I’m a walking stereotype, then. Guess who my childhood idol was? Hint: There weren’t a ton of options.”

I gasp. “No.”

“Bruce Lee, yeah,” he says with another laugh. “My calligraphy is that quote of his translated into Vietnamese. You know the one.”

“Be water, my friend,” I say in a deep voice that is my approximation of Bruce Lee.

“Yeah, but the whole quote, starting with ‘Empty your mind,’?” he says.

As the realization hits me, I pull away and look at the tattoos on his arms like I’m seeing them for the first time—the waves, the sea creatures. It appears he tried to take Bruce Lee’s advice literally. “I can’t believe it. You’re dorky.”

A huge grin covers his face, though he looks almost shy. “A little, yeah.”

I touch my fingers to the fish that’s inked onto his forearm and trace the scales on his smooth skin. I can’t stop smiling. His dorkiness delights me. This shy side of him, too. “This looks like a sea carp.”

“It’s a koi fish, and don’t go accusing me of putting freshwater fish in the ocean. My arms are different bodies of water from the rest of me.”

I laugh helplessly. “That’s such a dorky thing to say, Quan.”

“You like it.”

“I do. You might even be more—”

He cuts me off with a deep kiss that makes me cling to him. He tastes clean, faintly of my toothpaste, but salty, mysterious. When he pulls away, I bite back a protest. I could kiss him forever.

“Tomorrow night, right?” he asks, watching me carefully.