See Dot Smile

Bud's Move

"Do I get to kiss you goodnight?"

He says it so quietly, I almost ask him to repeat himself. 

My skin kicks on and my stomach swirls with butterflies. The journey to my front door took a long time. Mainly because Bud is still walking off my accidental assault on his crotch. But I also get the feeling we're both trying to slow things down. That we're not ready for the night to end. I know I'm not. 

"I don't know," I play coy. "This isn't that kind of date."

"Why not?" he asks more confidently. "Did I show you a good time tonight?"

"Yes."

"Was I a perfect gentleman?"

"Yes."

"Did I give up my ability to have children so you could look amazing in front of Josh?"

I laugh and shove him backwards and he almost falls off the step. I grab him by the lapels to steady him. "Yes." I smile. Because it's impossible not to.

He smooths his tie and runs a hand through his adorably tousled hair. "Well?"

I bite my lip thoughtfully. Bud's cheeks are getting increasingly rosy the longer I stall.

"Come on, Dot," he says. "Kiss me or don't. Just don't make me feel like an idiot."

I take his hands in mine and breathe over my butterflies. Of all the things I want to make Bud feel right now, "like an idiot" is not one of them.

"You're not an idiot," I say. "You're a sweetheart."

"Kiss then?" he says shyly to my fingers.

"Yes." He steps closer and I surprise myself by holding up one finger. "No tongues."

He smiles. "Promise."

I lower my hand, releasing the butterflies. And Bud makes his move.

He carefully sets my palms over his heart. He lifts his hands to my face and my eyes close instinctively the moment his fingers graze my cheek. He tilts my chin up and brings his face down to mine. He nuzzles my nose as his hands drift into my hair and I'm waiting. Breathing over a warm ache in my chest. Waiting. I can taste his breath, laced with cinnamon, and I lick my lips eagerly. W a i t i n g. I'm one second away from leaning in and breaking my own no tongues rule when I feel his mouth, soft and patient, against mine. My heart melts against my ribs as he lingers over each of my lips in turn, pressing in and releasing them so lightly I wonder if he's moving his mouth at all. Or if he's really kissing me. And I'm not still sitting in his car, playing out this beautiful moment in my head.

The ache in my chest spreads into my arms and my cheeks flush as his hands glide over my shoulders and down my back. Then he holds me. Gently. Against his mouth. Against his body. Long enough for my knees to turn to jelly. Long enough for my lower half to flood with heat. Long enough for me to question every idea I've ever had about what a good kiss is. And just long enough for my hands to wander shamelessly to Bud's belt.

He pulls away abruptly, leaving me breathless and dizzy.

"Sorry," he says.

"For what?"

"I don't know."

He's staring into my face and I'm still trying to put my head back together. I look down and find my hands safely in his.

"Do you want to come in?" I hear myself say.

"What for?"

"I don't know," I lie. "To hang out. It's early. And I'm having a good time. Aren't you?"

"Yes," his voice cracks and he clears his throat. "Yes," he says again.

He hastily drops my hands so he can tuck his shirt back into his pants. He gives me an accusatory look and then he laughs. And I do, too.

And with the sexual tension diluted back to an acceptable level for two friends on a sort of date, we head inside.

To hang out.  

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