Page 112 of The Play Maker

She sits up slowly, blinking up at me. “Yeah. Okay.”

I help her down from the truck, my fingers brushing her waist just a second longer than necessary. She doesn’t pull away.

While I pack up the pillows and toss the blankets in the back, she waits near the passenger door, arms folded against the wind. Her hair whips around her face, and I swear it takes everything in me not to just kiss her right then and there.

The drive back is quiet, her head leaned against the window, my fingers drumming absently on the steering wheel, looking for something to do.

When I pull up in front of her dorm, I kill the engine and glance over.

“I’ll walk you up.”

She smiles. “Okay.”

The hallway’s empty, our footsteps the only sound. Her door’s halfway down the hall, and for once, I don’t have anything cocky or stupid to say.

She stops at her room and turns to face me.

“Thank you for the date,” she says, and her voice is so damn sincere it knocks something loose in my chest.

I reach out, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear, my fingers skimming her cheek. “Best one I’ve ever been on.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “It’s the only one you’ve ever been on.”

“Still the best.”

She smiles, and my heart is thudding in my chest, in my throat, in the way my thumb brushes along her cheek.

“There’s one more thing,” I murmur, taking a step closer. “To make this the perfect date.”

She looks up at me, those soft, blue eyes all wide and shining, and damn… she looks like a porcelain doll. Gorgeous, delicate, impossible not to stare at, and I’m scared I’ll break her just by looking too long.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

My thumb traces the corner of her mouth. “This.”

I lift her chin gently, my stomach fluttering at the sound of her breath catching in her throat.

I’m freaking out. Not that I’d ever admit that out loud. But my heart’s pounding, and I feel like it’smyfirst kiss.

“Can I kiss you?” I whisper.

She nods. Barely. Just the smallest tilt of her chin.

I stare at her a second longer, memorizing everything about her. Her freckles. The shape of her mouth. The little dip in herchin. My thumb strokes across her cheek, and then I lean in—closer, closer—giving her every chance to stop me.

She doesn’t.

She leans into me.

And I kiss her.

Slow. Soft. Fucking perfect.

I take my sweet ass time, because this girl deserves it. She deserves the best damn kiss in the whole entire world.

Her lips are soft and warm and sweet—so damn sweet—and she tastes like that cherry Chapstick she always wears. I could drown in it.

She gasps slightly, her lips parting, and it feels like permission. I tilt her jaw and kiss her deeper, licking into her mouth, and groan when I feel her gasp, pressing her hands against my chest.