We’re a
couple of minutes away from my apartment, which also means we’re almost at the
end of our date. End-of-date protocol often means a goodnight kiss.
And I’ve
eaten onions. Lots of them. What the hell was I thinking? I feel around in my
shorts pocket, hoping I have a random stick of gum. I find a tiny square packet
and pull it out, along with an old tissue. I shove that back in my pocket and
sigh with relief as I carefully open the Listerine Pocketpak. There’s one strip
left. I pop it in my mouth, wishing I had water since my mouth is dry and I’m
suddenly super nervous.
Griffin
pulls up in front of my apartment building. I swallow a bunch of times, trying
to get the strip to dissolve on my tongue and glance out the tinted window,
seeing it from his perspective. I don’t live in a bad part of town, but I sure
as hell wouldn’t leave this car sitting out here for any length of time unless
I wanted it keyed or stripped down.
Griffin
shifts into park and turns to me, one hand resting on the back of my seat near
the headrest. “I had a great time, Cosy.”
“Me too,
thanks for dinner.” I tried to fork over my share, but he was quick on the
credit card draw.
“It was my
pleasure.” He leans in the tiniest bit, a nonverbal cue that he’s going in for
a kiss.
I mirror
the movement, giving him the go ahead. My stomach flutters in anticipation. I
exhale slowly through my nose. Even though the Listerine strip should be doing
its job to mask the onions, I don’t want to ruin the moment by breathing that
in his face.
His
fingertips skim my jaw, and I close my eyes. And then his lips brush my cheek.
I wait for them to move a couple of inches to the right, but after what feels
like a lot of seconds—and is probably only a few—I crack a lid.
Griffin
is still close, a wry smile on his lips and a smolder in his eyes.
“Seriously,
that’s it? A kiss on the cheek?”
His smile
widens, making his eyes crinkle at the corners. He’s nothing like the guys I
usually end up on dates with. College boys don’t take things slow. If I were
out with one of the guys from school, I’d be sitting in a beat-up Civic with
some stupid music playing, and he’d be all over me with his tongue halfway down
my throat, copping a feel.
“I
thought all the onions you ate were the equivalent to garlic for vampires.”
Griffin fingers my hair near my shoulder. I’d really like him to finger
something else. Wait. I mean I’d like to feel his hands on me. Not in my pants.
Okay, maybe I’d like them in my pants, but not after date number one.
“I wasn’t
thinking, and I really like onions. A lot. In hindsight, it’s not a great date
food. I feel kinda dumb. And I guess at first I wasn’t so sure about you. How
was I supposed to know you’d actually be kind of normalish?”
“Normalish?”
“Well,
you drink club soda on purpose, so you can’t be all there.” I tap his temple.
Griffin
circles my wrist with his fingers and drops his head, lips brushing over my
knuckle. “We can’t all be perfect, now, can we?”
“I
suppose not, and perfect is boring.”
“That it
is.” He hums against my skin, and I feel it through my entire body. “I would
like to try that kiss again, if you’re still interested.”
