So he kissed me.
Even while it was happening, I wondered if I could count this as my first “real” kiss—because in the end, it wasn’t really real. It was soft and slow and perfect and it sucked because I wanted this, but not like this. He pulled me tighter against him and for a moment I stopped caring about whether it was right or wrong or real or fake, because it sure as hell felt good. The relationship may have been staged, but my full-body shiver was a product of natural chemistry, not a choreographed show for the benefit of the admiring public.
Speaking of the public, over the sound of my racing heart, I heard a few scattered claps and even a “You show him, Mystic!” from what had to be Trish. I should’ve felt embarrassed, and I probably would in a matter of moments, but for now, all unnecessary brain function had been shut off to divert power … elsewhere.
He paused, breathing deeply. I looked up and caught his eye and in that moment I knew, absolutely, that despite whatever bullshit story we had about ourselves, this was real. This kiss, this moment. And I didn’t know when we’d get another one like it. I slid my hand up his chest and stood on my toes, tilting my face. His eyes turned, burning silver as he threaded his fingers through my hair and pulled me in again. Without thinking, I bit his lower lip softly between my teeth. His breath caught and he turned sharply away, his arms an iron vise around my waist.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, panicking. “I wasn’t thinking. Are you okay?”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, he turned slowly, hair tickling my cheek, and placed a light kiss underneath my jaw. Another full-body shiver radiated out from where his lips met my skin, and I could feel every muscle in his body tense in response to my reaction. It was another long moment before either of us dared to breathe.
“I’m okay,” he mumbled finally. “But you should probably not do that again.”
“Yeah,” I squeaked, blushing. “Okay,”
He deliberately stood up straight, his eyes pinched closed. When he opened them, they were his normal, multihued gray. He smiled lightly, though his arm was still tight around my waist. “So—are we friends again?”
I couldn’t keep an insane little giggle from escaping. Friends? Well, if that’s how “friends” made up, then hell yeah—“We’re friends.”
Adrian rolled his shoulders, letting out a deep breath, before glancing at the picnic tables. “I think pretty much everyone was watching. You want to go eat lunch in the truck?”
I leaned my forehead against his chest. Cue daily embarrassment.
“I take that as a yes.”
I nodded into his shirt. He laughed and turned so that we were headed toward the parking lot. I could feel dozens of eyes following us from the picnic tables as I tried not to trip. Maybe going to his truck was a bad idea. Maybe they thought we were going to continue our little performance where they couldn’t see us. I shouldn’t care, but I did, but I also didn’t. We rounded the corner of the building, away from prying eyes, and settled in the truck. Adrian turned the radio on and we listened to classic rock as we ate.
How could I go from being angry enough to slap him in the face one moment to mushy and breathless the next? I had allowed him to kiss me. I shouldn’t have, but I did, and I liked it way, way too much, and it was going to kick in soon that we might be friends again, but that’s all we were, and then this was all going to hurt.
We continued to munch silently on our lunches. I swallowed a bite of my sandwich.
“I owe you an apology,” I said, finally working up the courage to say it out loud.
Adrian stared at me blankly. “For what?”
I toyed with stem of the apple in my lunch bag. “For blowing up at you this morning. You were just trying to help. I just get pissed off so quickly and take it out on whoever’s near—and you happen to be near most of the time.”
He took a bite of his own apple, looking thoughtful. “Y’know, I feel like we spend a lot of time apologizing to each other.”
I barked a laugh, feeling suddenly tired. “We do, don’t we?”
“For what it’s worth, apology accepted—if you accept my apology for blowing up right back at you. I know I keep to myself, but there’s a lot going on with the Council and my family that I don’t agree with, and there’s nothing I can do about it. So—I get it.”
“Apology accepted,” I said, smiling. “Oh, shoot.”
“What?”
“Well, you might need to accept another apology. I promised my aunt we’d go to the ranch after school. She said she and Joe miss me.”
He sighed dramatically. “I don’t think I can forgive that.”
I snorted. “If you can’t forgive that, our cover story is headed for some serious trouble.”