Page 54 of Based on You

"No," I lied.

He walked over and sat down beside me on the couch, not at the polite far end of it. Right beside me.

"Did you even eat anything?" he asked, concern in his voice.

I stared at the laptop screen. The cursor blinked in the unfinished document.

I thought about what I was writing. The fictional man on the screen looked like him. The fictional woman was undeniably me. I didn't know how he kissed. I didn't know how he'd respond with a hand fisted in his dark hair. Looking at him sitting so close, asking whether I'd eaten dinner, the weight of not knowing pressed against my chest.

I snapped the laptop shut and set it carefully on the cushion beside me.

"Did you miss me?" I asked.

He froze. He stared at me.

"I was worried about you," he deflected, his voice tight. "I wanted you to come down and have dinner, but you looked like you wanted to be left alone."

"Simon." I looked at him steady, refusing to let him hide. "Did you miss me?"

He let out a short, nervous laugh. "I honestly didn't realize you were so bold."

I reached over and took his warm hand. I looked into his eyes.

"Simon," I repeated. "Did you miss me?"

He stared down at our joined hands, then back up at my face. "Why are you asking me that?"

"I'm just curious," I whispered.

"The last time I acted on curiosity," he reminded me, grim, "you avoided me for days, and I had to apologize for it."

"I remember telling you I wasn't unwilling," I countered.

He stared at me, his eyes dark. "What does that mean, Violet?"

I leaned in. "Find out."

For a single suspended second, neither of us moved.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and lifted again. He was breathing harder than he meant to let me see, and I could feel it where our faces nearly touched, the whole house gone still around the last unclosed inch between us. I had written this exact moment more times than I could count: the held breath, the brink no one has crossed yet, the almost I'd always sworn to my readers was the best part of any love story.

I'd been wrong. The best part was him closing it.

He wrapped his big hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in hard, and our lips met in a kiss with nothing careful left in it.

I pulled back, gasping for air. "Does that settle your curiosity?"

He stared at me, a slow, devastating smile settling on his face. "Not even close."

He pulled me back in. This second kiss was different, rougher, hungrier, the careful register gone, and I felt the difference in my grasping hands, in my hammering chest, in the weak back of my knees. He stood up from the couch, his hands finding my waist, and lifted me into the air before my brain had processed what was happening.

I laughed, surprised, my legs finding their way around his waist.

"Your long days at the gym are really paying off," I gasped.

He smirked and carried me up the stairs.

He pushed open a bedroom door with his shoulder. I didn't bother to check which room it was. I was too caught up in his roaming hands, his demanding mouth, the warmth of being held by someone who'd finally stopped being careful about it. He laid me down gently, his weight braced above me.