Wait, did I pass out while reviewing my prep work? Is this all a product of my imagination, brought on by too much maths? Am I actually face-first on an open Kaplan book right now, a slight trickle of drool leaking onto the pages?
Liam reaches over and threads his fingers through the back of my hair. Oh, that’s nice. My topknot comes undone, but I don’t mind. He says, “All I could think of doing was this.” With that, he pulls me close to him. Our foreheads are pressed together. The heat generated from where skin touches skin gives me goose bumps. He gazes deep into my eyes for what feels like a lifetime before he begins to kiss me.
!
!!
!!!
His kiss is like none I’ve experienced, hard, but a good hard, and not like all those other times where I worried about the guy’s braces catching the side of my mouth, or if he could smell the curry I ate at lunch, or if I was even doing it right.
Liam’s kiss has rendered me weightless, transporting me to another dimension in time and space. I feel like I’m swimming underwater, arching and flexing in an endless, warm emerald pool. My limbs are liquid and free, like I’ve become one with the sea. I’ve lost all sense of equilibrium. I’m flying and floating, careening at a hundred miles an hour yet concurrently standing still.
Or maybe that’s just the oxygen deprivation, because at some point, my lungs forgot to function.
I pull away first and try not to gasp for air, a goldfish leapt from its bowl.
Liam’s hand remains firmly on my neck, keeping my face tucked up close to his. He cups my cheek in his palm. We’re taking quick, shallow breaths in unison, our hearts beating with the same tempo. I feel his pulse racing alongside mine. I want to crawl inside this moment and live here for all eternity.
“That?” he says with a smile that slowly plays across his lips. “Was everything.”
His skin is flushed; I’m sure mine is, too. My lips tingle—I can still feel where he pressed against them. I’m gripping the lapels of his sport jacket, yet I don’t remember reaching for him. My body instinctively wants to pull him closer as it’s all I can do not to climb onto him.
I suddenly understand why Kent wants to dish details now.
Liam buries his head against my neck and begins to kiss me again and I’m almost overwhelmed as my pleasure morphs into desire. The notion of “going too far” wasn’t ever an issue with the boys I snogged...that is, until now.
Oh, I could make very bad decisions with this one.
I grab a handful of his hair and pull him closer. He pulls me right back.
I didn’t realize that toe-curling was an actual thing, yet here we are. The ends of my feet are clenched into little bunches inside my shoes. I’m desperately tempted to kick them off, followed by everything else I’m wearing.
“You smell incredible.”
As I’m still me, I’m obligated to deflect and break our trance. Cordy’s right about my lack of game. I explain, “I’m wearing CB I Hate Perfume. Christopher, the guy who created it, is a family friend. He used to drive a cab and he hated how people reeked of the cheap stuff. He despised being accosted by all the commercial fragrances. Long story short, his bad experiences inspired him to whip up really unique scents.”
Christopher should attempt to bottle the pheromones whizzing back and forth between the two of us. He’d make bank. As Liam gazes at me, I notice that his irises are different shades of amber and caramel and hazelnut, like a terribly sumptuous bar of Swiss chocolate. I used to think brown was boring, but suddenly it’s my favorite.
Again, because I’m destined to ruin every romantic moment, I continue my CB infomercial. “I’m wearing Just Breathe, which was a limited edition. What you’re smelling is a mix of bamboo and, um, green tea and—”
Liam saves me from myself by kissing me again. I’m swept away. His kiss is as sure and steady as the return of the tide and just as powerful. When his tongue touches my bottom lip, I respond in kind and we find ourselves woven together like a Brazilian commitment ring. Everything about his mouth on mine is right and formidable and all-encompassing, like I was put on this earth to live out this moment. I’m drawn out of my seat and onto his lap and he holds me harder, closer, as I grip his waist with my legs, his hands traveling from my hair down the length of my body, finding purchase on the bare stretch of my lower back where my shirt has ridden up.
I never want him to stop.
Still, my nature, my singular compulsion, is to wreck this moment. “And sandalwood and forest and a little bit of incense,” I finish once we’ve pulled apart.
What is wrong with me?
How is it that I’ve taken the most romantic/erotic moment of my life and turned it into a Sephora advert? Cordy’s going to love hearing about this. Yet I can’t shut my fool mouth.
“When Christopher asked me my favorite scent, I told him I wanted to recreate what I smelled when strolling the souk in Marrakesh, so this is what he picked.”
HOLY CRAP, SELF, STUFF A SOCK IN IT.
Instead of commenting on what a silly little fool I am or, perhaps, coming to his senses, Liam sweeps my bangs out of my eyes and tangles his hand in my hair again.
“Can I see you tomorrow night?” he asks, tracing his finger down my jawline.
Wait, he wasn’t thrown by my rattling off details like I was some sort of Marie Claire listicle come to life? My self-sabotage didn’t mar the moment? Is it possible that he cares for me not despite my own nature, but because of it?
I take my first proper inhale in about ten minutes and reply once the oxygen returns to my brain. “Yes.”
“All right then, off you go!” my dad bellows down the stairs. “Chop, chop, Simba!” He sounds like he means it, too.
“That’s my cue,” Liam says. But before he gets up, he runs a thumb over my tender lower lip while his eyes search my face. Ripples of pleasure cascade down to my curled toes. “To be continued.”
And what do I say in response? Which words do I pull out of my now-expansive lexicon to express exactly how on-board I am with his newly confessed sentiments?
“Okeydokey, artichoke-y.”
NO GAME. NONE.
Cordy will die, and legitimately so.
After I see him to the door, I’m giddy as I step into the kitchen to chat with my parents. (The trainer must have left while we were downstairs snogging. Again, WE WERE DOWNSTAIRS SNOGGING!)
I want to recruit my folks into helping me send out a Twitter status, addressed to all of North America, exclaiming LIAM KISSED ME AND I KISSED HIM BACK. They’re going to be so glad for me! I can’t wait to tell Mum everything! Liam is LOADS more appropriate than David Bowie.
I try to slap the grin from my face; I am wholly unsuccessful.
“So,” I begin. “What’d you think?”
“Simba...your friend is on drugs,” Mum says.
This is not what I expected to hear. I lose the smile right quick.
“Beg your pardon?” I ask.