But I don’t. I’m frozen.
Like oh-shit-what-just-happened-here frozen.
“What’s wrong? Do you not like champagne?”
“You, uh, you just quoted Keats,” I stammer, shell-shocked.
“You know that? It’s a great quote, right? I read it today and it reminded me of you. Of our kisses. How they make me feel.”
I put my hand up to my face, to the bridge of my nose, run it across my eyebrow. My hand shakes.
I look down at my champagne. And drain the fricking glass. “Can I have some more, please?”
“Uh, sure.” He pours me some more.
I drain that glass too. I’ve never done champagne shooters before but, hey, there’s a first time for everything, right?
“More?”
“Okay,” he says, taking away my glass. “What’s going on? Why are you downing champagne like it’s a Jaeger bomb?”
He pulls me back into his warm arms as my mind is replaying all my nights with Brooklyn. How he told me that fate would decide who I am supposed to be with. How fate would let me know.
So what the fuck is fate trying to tell me?
I know this is some kind of sign. But what sign?!
Is it a he-quoted-you-Keats-and-you’re-destined-to-be-together sign?
Or is it a you-should-be-with-the-boy-who-has-always-quoted-you-Keats sign?
Before I can think any more thoughts, Aiden starts kissing me.
Really freaking kissing me.
Still no tongue, but I don’t care. These are the kind of kisses I have been dreaming about.
Oh my. Whatever the people who make the gods did, they did this one up right. But then, of course, he’s using his mouth on me.
What else would I expect?
Other than a few more, earth-stood-still, brain-shattering, meteor-showering moments.
His hands are in my hair now.
I can’t think.
Then he stops kissing me and slides off his suit jacket.
His arms are so hotly jacked. I run my hands across his muscles and think, no, I never felt this way with Brooklyn. Or Cush, for that matter.
“Tell me the quote again,” I beg.
“‘Now a soft kiss—Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.’”
“It’s beautiful,” I say breathlessly.
“You’re beautiful. I haven’t told you that yet tonight, have I? How I didn’t even recognize you at first. I just saw this amazing body in a sinful dress and thought, Wow, who is that? Then I looked closer and realized it was you. Your hair is,” he laughs, “well, it’s looking a little messed up right now, but it looks even sexier. Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”
“Not really. So, last night. I thought, I mean, I really thought you didn’t like me.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because we were completely alone in a room and all you did was kiss me. We didn’t even make out!”
“Is that why you cried?”
“No. I cried cuz Dawson kissed me, and it was gross. And my lips felt amazing from kissing you, and then they felt gross and it made me sad.”
“I fixed that, though. I kissed you again.”
“Yeah, you did. My lips are feeling a little gross right now.”
Oh, that sounded pathetic.
“Oh really?” he mutters, and kisses me more.
But no matter how much he kisses me, no matter how long he kisses me, it’s like he gave me a love potion, and I can’t get enough.
I will never be able to kiss him enough.
Song 18.
“I’m tired of dancing.” he says, and pulls me down on the futon with him. I look over and see the keg of beer is still in his room.
“You always keep a keg in your room?”
“We have to move it all around, so we don’t get caught. But, yeah, usually. Our dorm advisor thinks I’m a good boy, so he never checks my room. Do you want a beer?”
“Actually, yeah. That sounds good.”
He gets up and pours us each a beer.
“So why did your face go completely white when I said that quote?”
I try to think of a good story, but I can’t come up with anything, so I tell him the truth.
“The guy I dated, hung out with—my best friend calls me Keats. He also loves old literature and quoted me Keats a lot. We had some pretty intense times.”
“Are you in love with him?”
“I love him. We’ve been best friends for a couple years, but I don’t know if it’s, like, true love. Like, if you even believe in that. Like, soul mates and stuff.”
“I believe in that stuff. I told you that. I also told you that’s why I didn’t stay with the girls I dated for very long. I kept thinking it could be something, but then I just couldn’t make it be something, so we broke up. I’ve never done anything like this for a girl before. I’ve never quoted her poetry. You’re different, Boots.”
There we go, the You Are Different line. Player. Player. Player.
I giggle. “In other words, I’m weird?”
“Pretty much,” he laughs, and then pulls me back in for more kissing.
I’m in heaven. Dreamland. Fantasyland. The Underworld. Mt. . . . uh, what is the mount where the Greek gods hung out? I can't remember, but I think I’m there too.
We kiss for days.