Page 39 of Grief & Glitter

He was close enough again that I could catch the scent of him under the smoke and champagne of the room, warm skin and that same clean, faintly sweet smell that had been driving me quietly out of my mind all night. “You can’t walk in bare feet. It’s cold.”

“I can walk.”

People were staring. I didn’t care. Ryan was laughing hard by the time I carried him through the lobby. He had both arms around my neck and his shoes dangling from one hand. I handed the valet ticket over one-handed.

The drive back to his dad’s house was quiet. Good quiet. Ryan curled sideways in the passenger seat, dress gathered around his knees, shoes abandoned on the floor mat, makeup still perfect except for a tiny smudge at the corner of one eye.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Best night ever.”

Something warm opened in my chest. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He looked out the window. “I was scared. I kept waiting for something awful to happen.”

“One asshole is nothing,” I said.

“Nope, one I can deal with,” he agreed.

I pulled up outside his house. The porch light was on. Neither of us moved as the truck engine ticked.

“I should go in,” he said, seeming suddenly shy. “I had a really good time, Gids.”

“Me too.”

I looked at him. He looked at me. And there it was, the thing we’d almost done beside a breakfast buffet, the thing I’d wanted to do at the noodle place, the thing I’d thought about far more often than I was willing to admit.

“Can I kiss you?” I asked.

His breath caught. “Please.”

I leaned across slowly. Plenty of time for him to change his mind. He didn’t. Ryan met me halfway, and the first touch of his mouth against mine was soft and warm. His gloss tasted subtly sweet. I had one hand braced against the console because I didn’t trust myself to touch him without turning one kiss into everything I’d been thinking about for weeks.

Ryan kissed me again, a little firmer. My hand came up without me thinking, stopping before I reached his face.

He saw it. “Please touch me.”

I cupped his cheek. Ryan leaned into my palm, then kissed me properly. Fuck. Every thought I had disappeared. His fingers caught the front of my shirt, holding me there. I kissed him back carefully, holding myself in check for all of three seconds before restraint became impossible and I gave him everything. His mouth opened, and something low and hungry woke up inside me that had absolutely nothing to do with grief or hockey or depression or anything else I’d spent years letting define me. This was Ryan. I wanted Ryan.

He made a small sound against my mouth. I pulled back, not far. His eyes opened slowly. Blue glitter. Smudged eyeliner. Gloss definitely ruined. Beautiful.

“Was that okay?” I asked. My kissing experience was limited to almost nothing.

Ryan stared at me. “Gids, you can’t kiss someone like that and then ask if it was okay.”

My stomach dropped. “Shit. Sorry.” Fuck. I knew I’d fucked up. Maybe I should have taken people up on their offers of kisses and more when they’d hit on me in the past. Then I wouldn’t be such a helpless fucking idiot.

“No!” Ryan grabbed my lapel when I moved back. “I mean, it was more than okay. It was…” He exhaled. “Really fucking okay.”

I smiled with relief. “So did I pass?”

He rocked his hand side to side. “We need more practice.”

“Okay.”

“Lots.”

“I can do that.”