Faker - Sarah Smith Page 0,28

and pull. The groan he lets out is like crack to my eager ears. I let go, then pull once more. Again he groans. My eyes are rolling back behind my eyelids. If from this moment on, my life consisted of nothing but kissing Tate and touching his curls, I would be satisfied.

His hands cup my face in such a surprisingly affectionate way that I whimper. He makes an “mmm” sound, and the vibrations of his lips pulse through mine. I could pass out from shock. I had no idea Tate could be so passionate, so gentle in his kiss. I was dead wrong. An android he is not.

There’s an ache between my legs, and I nearly yelp. Shit. That’s never happened to me during a first kiss before. It rarely happens even when I’m in more advanced stages of fooling around. I wonder if I’d have to fake it with him, like I’ve had to with other men I’ve been with. The heat of this kiss and the excitement it brings make me think that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to.

I turn my head to whip my hair out of my eyes and lose a moment of contact. His hands clamp me to his face. His body makes a convincing argument. Don’t move away, not even for a second, it says. Stay right here, keep kissing, and enjoy the delicious twinge in your lady parts. You earned this.

The ache settles into a warm tingle and floats through my body.

The melodic ring of my phone interrupts our car interlude. We release each other at the same time. We both seem to understand, even in the heat of arousal, the importance of promptly answering a phone call.

Jamie’s name flashes across the screen. For a moment, I wonder why he’s calling me, then I remember I invited him to meet me for a drink. Funny how a single tantalizing kiss can destroy the brain cells responsible for my short-term memory.

I answer, out of breath. I register Tate’s panting as well.

“Hey! I’m finally here,” Jamie says cheerily. “Are you somewhere in the back? I don’t see you.”

“No, I um . . . I stepped outside for a sec. Hang on, I’m about to walk back inside now.” I reach for the handle, but Tate pulls me away from the door.

“I can just go outside—”

“No!” I nearly shout, freezing in Tate’s grip. “Stay inside. I’ll be there in just one minute, okay?”

I hang up, then yank away from him. “I have to go,” I say without looking at him. I’m afraid if we make eye contact, I’ll end up lunging at him mouth-first again.

“Wait.” He sounds desperate.

“Jamie’s here. I have to.”

“You can’t go. Not yet.” His hands rest in fists on top of his legs. He seems to be putting considerable effort into not grabbing me right now. I can’t decide if that’s good or bad.

This kiss. This crazy kiss, as incredible as it was, has killed my capacity to think clearly. All I know is that I need to get out of his car now.

He shakes his head. “Just please listen to me.”

He wraps his hand around my arm, but it’s not a firm hold. Just pure softness. I stare, mesmerized by the way his creamy arm overlaps my tan skin.

“No,” is all I can manage to say.

“Please.” His eyes beg me to reconsider, but I can’t. I have to get out of this car, I have to meet Jamie, and I have to screw my head back on straight to make sense of what the hell just happened.

“I can’t.”

Sad eyes are all he gives me. His hand falls away, then I’m gone.

I walk back to Jimi D’s, catching a glimpse of myself in one of the glass windows. Matted hair, swollen lips, flushed cheeks, smeared eyeliner. The top of each hot-pink cup of my bra peeks up from the black scoop-neck top I’m wearing. I look like I just auditioned for a porno.

Using the window as a makeshift mirror, I try to quickly salvage my appearance. Luckily, there’s a giant shade pulled over the wall on the inside so none of the patrons can see me. Not that they would notice if they could see anyway. Judging by the booming music, cheering, and laughter, it seems like everyone is having a jolly good time. Everyone except me. And Tate, too, probably.

I smooth my hair with the minibrush I keep in my purse. It’s tangled to hell, but I manage. I wet