Page 166 of Dream On, Liar

No careful testing of the moment like I usually did with everything else in my life—like I was afraid even my own impulses might betray me.

I kissed him because I wanted to.

Because the thought of not doing it suddenly felt worse than any consequence I could imagine.

For half a second, he went still.

Completely still.

Like his body had forgotten how to respond.

And my heart dropped—just a fraction—because I thought, this is it, this is where I’ve ruined everything.

Then his hand tightened around my waist.

The softness from before didn’t disappear so much as it was swallowed whole by something deeper, something hotter, something that felt like it had been held back for far too long.

His mouth moved against mine with a kind of urgency that stole the air from my lungs before he pulled back. His forehead resting against mine.

I blinked up at him, disoriented, my pulse still racing like it hadn’t gotten the message that everything had paused.

“What?” I whispered, breathless, confused, already missing the warmth of him even though he was still right there.

His hand stayed at my waist.

Not letting go.

Not moving either.

Just…holding.

“What about your rules?”

For a second, I genuinely thought I’d misheard him. My brain lagged behind my body, still caught in the echo of the kiss, still trying to catch up to the fact that he had stopped.

And then it hit me.

Of all the things he could have said.

That.

I stared at him, slowly, and incredulously. “You’re unbelievable.”

His brow lifted slightly, like he was actually offended by the accusation. “I’m the one who’s unbelievable?”

“Yes,” I said immediately, pushing lightly at his shoulder as I pulled back. “You are. You’re so bad at following rules when it comes to your own health that you nearly destroy your shoulder every other week, but suddenly you’re a fucking expert on mine?”

A laugh escaped him—soft, disbelieving, like he couldn’t help it even though he was clearly still trying to hold onto whatever seriousness he thought this moment required.

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I don’t make your rules.”

“I don’t make them either. They just happened to be there as I grew up. They were more for self preservation than anything.”

“You still have them.”