Deciding it would be rude to ask him to move over in his own bed, I slide in and do my best to keep some semblance of space between us. But he immediately rolls on his side to face me, closing the distance, and he gives me a look like he’s considering something.

Is it something about me?

Even though I have no idea what type of answers he’s searching for on my face, I hold perfectly still, like that will make some kind of difference.

And then right when I’m about to break and ask him what he’s thinking, he says, “I think we should kiss again.”

My eyes grow wide.

“We only practiced once,” he adds quickly. As if once wasn’t enough to sear the feel of his lips into my brain. “And I kind of freaked out a little when it happened tonight in front of Elise. We need it to look more natural.”

“Uh,” I say, his proposition rendering me dumb. Somehow, it’s even more surprising this time than the first time he said it. Maybe because it almost made sense the first time. To practice. But now?

We don’t need more practice. When he kissed me tonight—because he kissed me, it didn’t just “happen”—it certainly felt natural. At least until he flailed around trying to get away from me.

“I just think it would be helpful,” he says. His face has shuttered his emotions, leaving me unable to read him. And I don’t like that. He’s usually so expressive. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Oh, I do want to. That’s the problem.

My whole reason for being here, though, is to help him out. So if he needs to kiss me more to get himself comfortable with it, then I can do that for him. I can keep my desire for him in check. I’ve been doing it for years.

I scratch at my jaw as I say, “All right, we can... Do you want...”

Ignoring my inability to finish a sentence, he scoots closer and practically flings himself at me. Even with his uncoordinated movements, our lips instantly come together like they’re magnetized. And he seems to settle as soon as we’re kissing.

His fingers curl into my shirt, and I can feel the warm press of them through the fabric. I’m on my back, and he’s propped himself up so that his face is slightly above mine, allowing him the easiest control of the kiss.

And fuck, I’m fine with letting him control it. Because his mouth is hot and exploring, his tongue sneaking out to lick across the seam of my lips, urging me to part them for him. As soon as I do, that wicked tongue meets mine, and it sends sparks of want shooting up my spine.