Page 9 of Ready or Not (The Nape #I)
“You ready to end the night, butterfingers?”
“Hm?”
“I asked if you’re ready to end the night…” Desiderio asked me as he led me out of the speakeasy. “Or if you want to spend some more time together.”
I pulled my phone out of my bag to check the time.
1:57 AM.
Though a part of me wanted to call it a night, another part of me didn’t want it to end. I was having the most fun with him that I had in ages, and the thought of going home now would feel like shutting a book halfway through a thrilling chapter, the kind you never want to put down.
And I found myself becoming addicted.
Looking down at my phone, I checked the time again.
1:59 AM.
Twelve texts from the group chat, asking me to update them on how my night was going. Quickly unlocking my phone to shoot the group chat message, I typed out, Still alive. I’m having fun. Don't wait up.
“They’re wondering if I killed you yet?”
I slid my phone back into my bag. "Nope. Just being nosy. Asking me what time I'll be home since I got Pilates at noon tomorrow."
"Yun’s right?”
“Yup. Every Saturday,” I looked up at him, smiling. “You really do pay attention.”
He grinned. “I do.”
“So," he continued as he stopped at the bottom of the speakeasy home’s steps. "What's the verdict? Do we call it here and I call you an Uber, or do we let it stretch just a little longer?"
“I could go either way,” I shrugged. “Depends on what you have in mind.”
“Gotta make the decision,” he said, stepping closer, his eyes lit with a playful challenge. "'Cause if you leave it up to me, I’m gonna decide to keep you out till the sun comes up."
“Well,” I tilted my head, my heart somersaulting in my chest at his maddening smirk. “You haven’t convinced me yet.”
He feigned offense. “Oh, so now I gotta convince you? After spending the last couple of hours charming you?”
“Mhm.”
His grin grew wider as he took a step closer.
"Bet," Desi said, his voice dropping just enough to make my pulse quicken. He dipped his head a little, locking me in that gaze of his that felt less like looking and more like falling. In that moment, my body betrayed me and leaned in closer, closing the gap he’d left hanging like an invitation. My mind spoke incoherent thoughts—drawing up scenarios a lady shouldn’t entertain, my pulse roared in my ears, and my breath hitched when his hand brushed against mine.
His smirk deepened.
Without breaking eye contact, he slipped his fingers between mine, as though it had been made to fit just there. His thumb brushed against my knuckles in a simple, absent-minded motion that sent shivers racing up my spine.
Kiss him , my mind whispered when he looked down at my lips, then back up at my eyes.
Kiss him.
Kiss him.
KISS HIM.
But my lips didn’t dare form the thought.
Instead, I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to play it cool, though every fiber of my being was begging me to throw caution—and perhaps dignity—to the wind.
"You know," he murmured, his thumb still tracing lazy patterns on my hand, "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were thinking about kissing me."
"That’s a lie," my voice came out weaker than I intended, barely above a whisper, but he heard it.
Of course he did.
He tilted his head, leaning in so close that our lips almost touched, but not close enough to satisfy.
"Oh word?” I felt his breath graze my lips. “You sure about that, Butterfingers?”
I swallowed hard, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.
"Positive," I whispered, though the word trembled at the edges, betraying me once again.
For a moment, he didn’t move, just hovered there, his lips so tantalizingly close that my heart seemed to forget how to beat in rhythm. His eyes searched mine, like he was daring me to crack.
"Y’know,” he murmured. “I don’t think I believe you.”
His lips twitched upward into that maddening smirk again, the kind that could both infuriate me and make my knees wobble all at once. He leaned back just enough to study me, to drink in the way I fumbled to keep my composure under his gaze.
And damn it, I was failing miserably.
“I’m a pretty good reader of people,” he continued, his tone teasing but his eyes darker now, more serious than they had been all night, “and right now? You’re looking at me like you want me to kiss you.”
“I’m not?—”
He stepped closer again, cutting off my words. His thumb traced one last slow circle against my knuckles before his fingers tightened around mine, grounding me while simultaneously setting me adrift.
"Don’t finish that sentence, mami," he whispered, his voice laced with a challenge I wasn’t sure I could rise to. The world around us blurred—the distant hum of the bodega’s music down the block, the faint laughter of late-night revelers passing by—everything faded into nothingness.
It was just him, his eyes locking on mine like a dare, his presence swallowing up.
“I dare you,” he finished, his voice barely louder than a breath, “to tell me I’m wrong.”
My throat clenched shut against any semblance of words, because if I finished my sentence, it would be a lie. My lips parted instinctively, but no sound came out.
Just breath—shallow, uneven—disobedient to my attempts at composure.
He had me right where he wanted me, and I knew it.
He knew it too.
A slow grin teased its way across his face as he tilted his head ever so slightly. "That’s what I thought.”
Before I had time to process it—to overthink my way out of this moment—he leaned in. His lips brushed against mine, so light and fleeting that heat exploded through me like lightning striking the same spot twice.
It wasn’t enough.
It was too much.
My breath caught in my throat as he smirked against my lips; my common sense vanished into thin air like it never existed.
“Tell me to stop.”
I couldn’t.
The words didn’t exist in me anymore.
My heart beat in double time, drowning out all thought except for the pull of him—this magnetic force that I was powerless to resist.
“Didn’t think so,” he murmured, and then his lips found mine, this time with no hesitation, no disruptions, no teasing trace. The kiss was gentle at first, like opening notes of an Anthony Hamilton love song, smooth and soulful, carrying a rhythm that drew me in deeper with every passing second.
But then, as if some silent crescendo demanded it, everything shifted.
The kiss deepened, and every inch of restraint I had left crumbled under the touch.
His free hand found the curve of my waist, pulling me closer like he couldn’t stand even the smallest distance between us anymore.
No longer able to stay idle, my hands found their way to the back of his neck, and I weaved my fingers into his hair as I tilted my head to meet him more fully.
The world slipped further away as I gave in to the kiss, letting it consume me completely.
His touch was intoxicating, a perfect balance of careful control and unapologetic hunger.
Time seemed irrelevant, the rhythm of our kiss dictating everything instead. My mind was a riot of sensation—his scent, the warmth of his hands, the velvet press of his lips against mine. The city could’ve crumbled into dust around us, and I wouldn’t have noticed.
When he finally pulled back, it was slow, hesitant, like he wasn’t quite ready to let go, and neither was I.
His forehead rested gently against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us.
My pulse still thundered in my ears, drowning out everything except the memory of his lips on mine.
His hand lingered at my waist, fingers curling slightly as if he was reluctant to break the connection.
“Well,” his voice was soft and a little breathless. “That settles it. I’m not calling it a night. Not yet anyways.”
I laughed quietly, my chest still heaving for air.
“There’s this spot on Lexington and 76th near my—” his brows furrowed, and he looked up at the sky. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what—” I was interrupted by a soft, cool droplet landing on my cheek. Then another followed, bringing a cascade of rain that came out of nowhere, catching us completely off guard.
“Change of plans,” he said, running a hand through his now drenched curls as we moved under the awning of a nearby storefront. “Actually… I got a better idea.”