through her in the same way his laugh had.
“Okay. Okay. I’m going to do it. I’m doing it. Is it supposed to be burning my fingers? I think it’s burning my fingers.”
Of course, she expected him to see her half-feigned panic as a cue to take the thing from her. If he took it from her, she wouldn’t have to actually do what her father’s voice was telling her not to, somewhere in the back of her mind.
And to his credit, he did half of what she secretly probably wanted. He took the joint from between her trembling fingers, just as her insides reached critical meltdown.
But he also said a word, as he did so. A perfectly innocent, simple sort of word.
“Here.”
And then he leaned forward with a newly drawn mouthful of smoke, and ghosted his mouth so close to hers she couldn’t do what was obviously expected of her. She couldn’t breathe in what he was trying to pass from his body to hers. He had to tell her, through a coil of smoke like a snake, emerging from between his lips.
“Take it,” he said, and she forced her body to relax. Tried to open her mouth without actually touching him—which proved an almost monumental task.
He just took up so much space . And with him being this close she could make out every detail of his face, of those lips she’d dreamt about and the almost too-straight shape of his nose. The little scar in his eyebrow, where the piercing had been. The hint of silver in his ear in the periphery of her vision.
And then heat filled her mouth and her throat and her lungs, to meet the inferno that had already started burning, low down in her belly.
She couldn’t help reveling in it, for a second. His lips were so close to hers she could almost feel the shape of them, through the slight stirring of the air in between. Plus, he didn’t seem to be moving away. He’d done the thing he’d set out to do, and now he wasn’t moving away.
Almost as though he expected her to do something more, something—
He pulled away as abruptly as he’d put himself there, and when she opened her eyes he wasn’t looking at her anymore. He took another drag on the joint instead, as though nothing had ever happened.
And really, nothing actually had. He’d just given her what she wanted—a taste of pot.
A hint of what kissing someone might be like.
“I don’t feel any different,” she said, though that wasn’t exactly true. She did feel different. Just in a completely unexpected and world-altering way, as opposed to anything to do with relaxing marshmallows.
“Give it a second,” he said. He sounded gruff, she thought. Angry, maybe, as though she was the one who’d leaned in toward him and stirred the air around his lips.
It made her want to explain, somehow, but how could you explain something you hadn’t done? The words I’m sorry I almost sat there while you didn’t kiss me sounded completely ridiculous, even to her.
Though fortunately, she didn’t have to go to that place. He just turned his head, instead, and settled that charcoal gaze back on her. Said in some foggy, non-angry sort of voice, “Want some more?”
Would he hold it against her, if she told him yes?
“Okay,” she said.
Okay seemed safer. Or at least, it did until he actually moved forward, and then it just seemed insane and like something that sent her heart through the roof.
She tried to appear cool about it, though. The last thing he wanted was a girl who freaked out at the slightest thing, and this was definitely a slight thing. He didn’t even touch her when he moved close, and though his lips parted so slow and sensuously around the smoke, and his hand went real close to the side of her head, he didn’t actually kiss.
It just felt as if he did. It made her eyes drift closed and her whole body lean in to him, despite the fact that she didn’t really want it to. He’d know, if she got too near him. He’d get that she kind of maybe wanted to do the thing that started with a K and ended with an S,