Laced Steel - M.J. Fields Page 0,93

them.” She smiles, once again lifting them to her nose but not smelling them. She rubs her lips back and forth against them with her eyes closed.

When she finally looks up, she smiles brighter. “I think I love fourth grade the best.”

“Perfect. Think you’re going to love the summer before your senior year.” I wink and watch her smile wobble into an almost frown. I can’t help but laugh as I lean in and kiss the top of her head. “Should have gone with regular red impatiens.”

She laughs as she pushes me away, but she does it gripping my button down.

“Should we go?”

She looks back at her parents and holds the flowers up.

Cyrus kind of glowers at me. Tara holds her hands to her heart and hip-checks him.

“You wanna leave the flowers here?” I ask.

“They should be in water, but also”—she rubs her lips across them again—“I kind of don’t wanna give them up just yet.”

I take them from her, snap one of the flowers off, and put it in her hair. “Problem solved.”

She smiles as she turns then hurries to her parents, while I walk over and open the passenger door. Tara smiles, and I can’t help thinking about her words and wanting to continue making her proud.

Planning a date is taxing, especially when you’re trying to impress someone who has everything. Even the weather was important, and thankfully, it cooperated.

Sitting on an outside deck at a small, family-owned Italian restaurant, not an Olive Garden, our knees rub against each other’s under the table and our pinkies are linked across the table where we watch the sunset as we wait for the dessert that Truth chose, Tiramisu, that she swears I’m going to love.

Unlinking our pinkies, she stands, leans across the table, and then kisses me on the cheek, promising she’ll be back before the sun sets so we can watch it together.

As soon as she’s inside, I nod to the waiter, who happens to be the owner’s son that I spoke to on the phone to make sure they could accommodate the night I had planned in my head, a night a girl like Truth deserved..

When she walks out, she looks around, eyes widening right along with her smile, as hundreds of tiny white lights seemingly dance over us on the trees that sway in the evening breeze.

I reach out my hand for her to take and pull her into me, and then we dance to a song that my mom used to play on repeat when I was little, “Tiny Dancer.” With my hands on her hips and hers linked behind my neck, we gently sway to the music.

Looking down into her green eyes, I want to kiss her now, but I’m forcing myself to take it slow for a different reason than before—anticipation.

I lean in and brush my lips against her forehead, my heart beating faster as our bodies meld together, our rhythm syncing immediately. We dance like we’ve done it a million times before.

When the song ends, we continue to sway, and from over her shoulder, I watch as our waiter brings out the Tiramisu, as planned. When he looks up, he does an about-face and heads right back in, improvising when the plan changed, and doing a damn good job of it.

I look down at her, leaning in until our faces nearly touch. Her lips part, and I smell the raspberry scent of the tea we just drank. I brush my lips against hers, as if I’ve done a hundred times before and take in the softness of her skin, like flower petals against mine.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Idiom

With A Burning Desire.

Truth

Okay, I totally get this one… now.

As soon as he held my face between his hands, I knew this was it, the moment that Tobias Easton finally kisses me the way I have dreamt about him kissing me for what feels like forever.

I wasn’t turned on immediately; I was fucking terrified that I would screw it up somehow. And let’s be honest, even though I’ve danced for years, being around him seems to induce vertigo.

When he opened his mouth, and I felt him tracing my lips with his tongue, it was as if he was erasing my unease, and I began to melt.

When he pushed it inside of my mouth, the manly smell of him mixed with his own knee-weakening tasted dipped in raspberry caused the butterflies to swarm at a newfound fury.

Rubbing my tongue against his, I was rewarded with a low groan that