“Three,” he says, but I don’t see any of those letters. I only feel the press of Reid’s perfect lips against mine, and as soon as it happens, I know. I know that I could have my eyes closed this way and I’d still know Reid’s kiss anywhere, because Reid’s kiss is everything I like about Reid—firm and direct, with a sweetness you have to know to truly recognize. He sets one of his big, warm hands to the side of my neck, his palm pressing against the network of veins where the blood rushes to the surface for him, but with his thumb he lightly strokes the line of my jaw. His lips on mine tell me he wants more than a chaste, closemouthed kiss, but he waits until my tongue slips over his bottom lip to give me his own, and once he does, he makes that soft groan I’ve heard him make before, but this, this is the perfect version of it, the one I’ll hear in my dreams for days and days.

I scoot toward him, moving to wrap my arms around his neck, and I’m barely thinking—barely thinking that we’re in the park, that we’re in public, that at any second some disgruntled jogger might shout a well-deserved Get a room! I kiss him and kiss him, my body growing desperate to get closer to him.

“This is the best game,” I breathe between kisses, my chest rising and falling quickly. I’m practically panting out here, but I don’t care. I want to keep his lips on mine; I want our tongues tangling; I want to press my whole self against him, and—unlike last night—I want to really feel it this time.

“Meg,” he says, his forehead resting against mine, his own breaths coming faster now. “I have a number four.”

I stiffen, worried we’ll have to stop now, worried there’s something I’ve forgotten.

But Reid keeps me close, kisses me once before he speaks again.

“Come home with me.”

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

No self-respecting New Yorker PDAs on the subway, and Reid and I manage—barely, it feels to me—to stay self-respecting.