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He couldn’t stop smiling.
He couldn’t, he’d tried. It wasn’t something he was doing voluntarily, really. But the corners of his mouth couldn’t stop curving up, like they had a life of their own. He wished he wasn’t so stupidly giddy, but his heart was having a hard time calming down.
He couldn’t stop smiling. He was almost positive all the people on the subway were looking at him like he was insane, locked in somewhat a fight with himself, to stop smiling so much. It felt so odd, and he felt so conflicted. Between what his mind was telling him and what his heart wanted; usually, his mind would’ve won, but when it came to emotions it had a rather hard time taking over. They were more difficult than they ought to be to figure out, even when they were his own.
A part of him, that rational part of him that begged him to stop smiling, because he was making a fool of himself, told him that this had been nothing than some sort of feverish dream and forgetting it might’ve been better.
After all, what were the chances that a beautiful rising actress was actually interested in him, of all people? He wasn’t exactly your typical man someone would’ve wanted to date; that had been proven. He looked fourteen (apparently), dressed rather antiquely and spoke way too much, of things nobody was interested in. Of course, as someone had told him, he just needed to find someone who’d be willing to listen; Lila had seemed intrigued by his over-talking even before he was assigned to protect her, which should’ve told him that maybe, just maybe there had always been something there.
That gave way to that other part of him, that irrational one that couldn’t stop smiling, that made him think that Morgan had been right, and he should’ve tried calling her before either of them could begin forgetting about the other. Though he was scared of being rather disappointed, if she indeed decided that she’d only been interested in him because he was there solely for her, and the image of the hero she’d built herself would’ve crumbled.
Either way, he supposed he could’ve been left with somewhat good memories. Something that had proven that he wasn’t so uninteresting, as he’d bitterly thought after the date with JJ hadn’t worked out.
He supposed the two of them were simply better off as friends; after all, he’d gotten over it rather quickly, though in possibly a worst way. Getting over someone out of your league by setting your eyes on someone even more outside of your league wasn’t the most genius idea he’d ever had, admittedly. But whatever was a league, anyway. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder. And looks weren’t everything, after all.
Someone had been interested in him, even for a brief moment, and he felt so irrationally happy about it; somehow, that felt enough. He wanted to call her, even simply to ask her how she was doing, after the terrible experience, without expecting anything more. He was going to do what his heart wanted, while still trying to remain rational and look at things with a logical mind. Something he had proven, at least, was that now, he did know everything. Though, as Socrates said, it was always better to know you didn’t know.
Well, he did know how to kiss, which was one of the things he’d been missing out on learning. He supposed he’d had quite a great teacher. That thought made him both smile once more and feel like someone had squeezed a hand around his heart, because it’d been weeks, but he still couldn’t get it.
He knew how Elle was. He knew she was a flirt and could always get what she wanted, and there was nothing wrong with it. In the end, she probably liked something of the way he seemed so innocent, naïve, inexperienced, hesitant, insecure. The way she had some power over him. He was sure she had power over everyone who looked at her. And it’d only been a kiss, a kiss to prove he couldn’t kiss and show him how to kiss.
It wasn’t anything unusual (except it was) and it wasn’t something that they would’ve ever needed to address (except it was).
But it had been weeks, and neither of them had said anything. Well, he did want to say something, but she seemed so nonchalant about the whole thing, like it was something she simply was used to doing, that he hadn’t found the courage to make a fool of himself and ask her about it. Yet another reason to call Lila back, because it was rather useless to chase who didn’t want him and escape who did.
He was so lost in his thoughts he almost missed his stop, something that was rather unusual of him, as he had perfectly memorised the time it took for him to travel back home; he had way too many things swirling around in his head, too many things he couldn’t make sense of, he couldn’t connect and find a common thread to.
He climbed up the stairs leading him back outside, to breathe the smoky air of Washington and listen to the incredibly loud sounds that populated the streets. Not that it wasn’t something he was used to: Las Vegas might’ve been out in the middle of the desert, but it was still practically nothing more than a gigantic casino. Still, he was glad he’d managed to secure himself an apartment in a rather quiet neighbourhood (for how quiet any neighbourhood in the city centre could’ve been); the problem was getting there, first.
He quickly made his way through the people, knowing perfectly the most efficient way to get back home. While turning the corner towards his street, he started shuffling through his bag, in a desperate search for his keys, buried under files and books and what-not.
When he finally found them (accompanied by a triumphant exclamation), he looked back up, and, to his immense surprise, noticed someone leaning against the wall next to the door of his apartment building. He was still rather far, and it was dim, reason why it took him a while to realise who it was. Truthfully, it was always a rather concerning sight for a federal agent, but it seemed no one had any intention of killing him right in front of his house, for now.
It was just Elle.
Well, it wasn’t just Elle, because Elle had no reason to be there. He hadn’t even been aware she knew where he lived. She was leaning back against the wall, looking out in front of herself, like she was deeply lost in thought, one hand shoved into the pocket of her jacket and the other holding a cigarette between her fingers. He could only stop still, and stare as she brought the cigarette to her lips, puffing out smoke into the night. For some reason, it was a rather mesmerising sight. And he didn’t like how his mind had brought attention to her lips, which was probably the last thing he needed to think about, right then.
Firmly, he shook his head; she certainly couldn’t stop him from going back home, whatever the reason she was there might’ve been. She couldn’t stop him from wondering what she was doing there, but he guessed she wasn’t trying to. He guessed she wanted him to ask himself why she’d gone there.
There had to be a reason why she was there so late in the night, and hadn’t gone home; after all, she’d left the office almost two hours before he had. There had to be something she wanted to say, and it had to be something she considered rather urgent, or she would’ve waited the following morning.
This was—almost uncanny, because there was not a single rational reason why she’d be there. She didn’t look for people. She didn’t look like the kind of person who would’ve, at least. It all felt so improbable he had to supress the urge to rub his fingers over his eyes, to somewhat chase away the illusion. But he knew what he was seeing, and he knew she indeed couldn’t have been an hallucination.
Yet, he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. He wanted to go home, and knew she couldn’t stop him, but he couldn’t move. Because it simply made no sense. The fact that he’d been thinking about her right before finding her standing in front of his apartment building made everything so much more surreal. It made no sense.
Still, he foolishly perceived the beating of his heart picking up pace, though he silently told it to calm down. He couldn’t possibly think she’d decided to finally address what had happened between them, not when she’d kept treating it like it’d been nothing to her, like she’d simply wanted to have some fun with him, knowing perfectly how well she could wrap him around her finger. Not when nothing had changed that would’ve brought her to—oh.
Something had happened. And it wasn’t even something he should’ve overlooked in the first place. She had looked at him with something strange in her gaze after he’d climbed out of the pool, but he’d convinced himself she’d been staring at him thinking he looked like a wet kitten, and certainly hadn’t imagined she could’ve suspected what had happened.
Even if she had, he didn’t see what would’ve changed, what it’d brought her to decide to finally talk to him about that kiss. He didn’t know whether that was the reason she was there; she’d been rather evasive all that time and he wasn’t quite sure she’d get straight to the point. He didn’t see why she’d look at him twice only because someone else had. It wouldn’t have made any sense. She didn’t care; she couldn’t have cared. He couldn’t get his hopes up. Especially not now, when he could ruin his chances with a person who actually seemed interested in him, whichever the reason.
He took a deep breath. He was going to be alright: he wasn’t going to let her make demands and comply to every single one of them like he’d done that first time. He couldn’t possibly be that stupid, now. There had to be a reason people called him a genius. Though nobody had ever claimed he was a genius in social relationships, and there had to be a reason for that, too.
Ah. It was going to be alright; he was going to be alright. Elle was his friend, as she’d proven countless times. After all, she couldn’t have possibly imagined the feelings he’d developed for her after a single kiss. People usually got over that sort of thing rather quickly, without major consequences. He supposed it would’ve been that easy, had he not mostly likely felt something towards her that was deeper than friendship even before that kiss.
It was something he’d never let himself become fully aware of, always keeping the thought shoved deep into his chest, away from his mind, knowing he’d only end up dissecting it and over-analysing it. Exactly like he hadn’t stopped doing for a single second after something had made him aware of it. It hadn’t been immediate, really, though there had been signs. But that kiss had made it real, had made something that had never been more than a fleeting glimpse, more real than it ought to have been.
He’d been unable to stop thinking about it since then, turning the memory around in his head, analysing every single detail, every single thing he’d felt. It was almost like that kiss had sparked something in his heart, something that had always had the potential to be there, and yet, had never truly been before. He might’ve not been stupid, but he was a little foolish, that was for sure. No matter what he felt, he couldn’t worry.
Elle was a friend, and not an unknown subject he needed to be wary of. Whatever she might’ve been there for, he was sure there had to be a good reason. Perhaps, she’d simply wanted to see him, check in on him, perhaps even tease him, like she was so used to.
It wasn’t like anything had changed between them. Not to her. She’d kept treating him like a little kid who knew nothing of life and was adorable at best (no, that wasn’t true, not always; sometimes she seemed like the only person who didn’t see him that way, which only made things worse).
Realising he’d been standing there for a few more moments than it would’ve seemed normal, he snapped out of his thoughts, and stepped back towards the door, trying to convince himself he was ready to hear what she had to say.
When, hearing him approach, she turned around, and everything he could focus on were her eyes, those siren eyes that had not stopped pulling him since that kiss, he felt some of that conviction die. He felt like he was being lured into deep waters that would eventually leave him breathless, and he hated himself for it. He had been dragged into a pool not that long before, but he had been way less scared that he’d drown.
He found himself unable to speak a word, like she’d stolen his voice, and could only give her a slight wave with his free hand as he approached, to which she responded by raising the hand she was holding the cigarette with.
Taking another puff from the cigarette and letting the smoke escape through her lips, she waited for him to reach her, with no indication of what she was thinking on her face; she wasn’t letting him see that. He registered that she did seem a little dazed, like she had been drinking.
“I know; this’ll kill me,” she said, as if answering to something he’d been meaning to say, though there had been everything in his mind but that. Her voice was slightly rough, from the smoke scraping against her throat, but there was that same lowness he’d heard when she’d asked him to—when she’d demanded that he kiss her.
No.
No, he couldn’t think about that. That was probably the worst thing he could’ve thought about, in that moment. The night was a dangerous moment to have such forbidden thoughts, because it’d always made them seem clouded by darkness, while, really, they’d have the same consequences in the light of day. And he didn’t want to have to face such consequences, especially when they’d probably end up confirming how much of a naïve and innocent person he still was.
He didn’t want to make it seem like his heart was as changeable as the moon, although he feared that was only the truth. But human emotions were never easy to understand and they’d never been easy for him; his own, in particular, were usually hard to comprehend.
So, no, letting his mind linger on those memories wasn’t such a great idea. Unfortunately, looking at Elle in that moment, when everything about her seemed so dark and deep, wasn’t the best idea, either. The only light illuminating her features was from the street lamp a few feet away from them, barely grazing her face, but it gave her something even more alluring than usual.
He tried to hold back from observing her, he truly tried, but it was as useless as his attempts to stop smiling had been before. He’d never looked at her twice before their kiss, not like that, but now, he couldn’t look away; like his eyes were drawn to her with a magnetic force. That magnetic pull that always surrounded her.
She was—she was rather mesmerising, though he hated to admit it. How the light bounced back from the curve of her jaw, the line of her nose, her rather pronounced cheekbones, the way her lips slightly looped down when she wasn’t smiling, her thin eyebrows and the glint in her eyes. Her eyes were his weak spot, he knew it all too well. He wouldn’t have been able to say why, but they seemed to extend for miles, to keep all the undiscovered secrets of the universe in them. He could’ve lost himself.
But he knew he couldn’t. He knew it would’ve been stupid of him to. The only thing he could do was hear what she wanted (in there was anything other than commenting on her own unhealthy choices) and then go on with his life, like he always did. Without helplessly pining over yet another person who didn’t see him. Because, truly, why would she have ever been interested in him?
Beyond all his insecurity of the fleetingness of her infatuation with him, he knew there were some reasons he could find to why Lila had been interested in him, that went further than him being there to protect her. She’d probably seen him as an escape, an escape from that life of fame, money and limelight. Someone so strikingly different from what she was used to, someone so naturally interesting simply because of the worlds apart they lived in. Something real in a world that could only feel fake.
He knew there was some logic there, he knew it made sense. She’d seen him because he’d seemed out of place, which was usually the same reason people overlooked him; because they thought someone out of place could only make them feel out of place.
There was some logic there, but there was no rational reason why Elle would’ve ever found him interesting. Because they lived in the same world, and she was above him in everything; she was much more than him. There was no reason why she’d lower herself to his level.
Yet, sometimes, he couldn’t help but remember what she’d told him, the way she’d described him. Unfortunately, he remembered every single word. And the way she’d been observing him. Like he was a puzzle she wanted to figure out. He didn’t understand why she’d told him those things; and why she’d said them like they were nothing more than facts, mere observations.
More than that, the way she’d been holding his face, the way she’d run her fingers along his cheekbones, the way she’d brushed against his lips. He felt a sudden blush warm up his cheeks. He wasn’t doing a particularly good job at not thinking about the time they’d kissed. He was thinking about nothing else.
Finally, Elle let the cigarette fall to the ground, extinguishing it with her foot, like something had suddenly changed, quickly walking the few steps that separated her from him. She was shorter than him, but, in that moment, he felt so incredibly small, heart beating overwhelmingly fast.
Without a word, she placed a hand over his chest, over his heart, like she wanted to know the effect she had on him; she didn’t smile in that mischievous way that preluded something, and he found himself missing the dimples on her cheeks. Perhaps, he was beyond saving. A fool beyond reason.
Now that she was so close, he was sure she’d drunk; there was something pungent in her breath, though he couldn’t have said how inebriated she was. But it made him feel so intoxicated that, when she finally spoke once more, he almost didn’t hear her, and the words took longer than they should’ve to be registered. Though he did have a hard time figuring out what she was referring to for a few seconds.
“Don’t call her,” her voice was once more reduced to that low growl, the same she’d used when she’d asked him to kiss her. That made those words even more difficult to understand but, when he did, he found himself dumbfounded.
She—she didn’t want him to call Lila.
Though she apparently hadn’t even found the will to pronounce her name, like it would’ve been an insult. Something in him told him he should’ve gotten a little more irritated than he was, because she couldn’t seriously ask that of him, but, everything else couldn’t help but be intrigued by that request. It was rather out of character. If he hadn’t known her better, he would’ve said it sounded a little desperate. Like, for once, she wasn’t sure she could’ve gotten everything she demanded. And while he wouldn’t have questioned it a while before, he couldn’t help but wonder what had gotten into her.
“Why?” he sounded more confused and lost than he’d intended to. But the tone of his voice seemed to fly right over her head, as she blinked at him, her eyes suddenly a little less alike a siren and more puzzled. Like she truly hadn’t expected him to retort anything at all, and to take everything she was saying.
Maybe that was it. She’d been doing nothing more than toying with him, and she hadn’t expected him to stop being alright with the situation, to stop playing along. Because he was, oh so innocent, oh so naïve and he’d let someone do anything as long as they’d looked at him twice. If that was what she believed, she truly thought little of him, and it kind of stung. They were friends, but he felt like a real friend wouldn’t have treated him that way, wouldn’t have taken his loyalty for given, like he was nothing more than a sorry puppy following them around.
He didn’t get angry often, he’d never liked to feel that way but, when he did, it was something he hardly could contain. And this, this made him feel a little irritated, though he supposed he had to consider that she was most likely drunk. Maybe she didn’t seem perplexed because he’d dared to give a question to her demand, but because she hadn’t considered the reason why she didn’t want him to call Lila.
She did seem a little more taken aback than any sober person would’ve been, dropping her usual demeanour rather quickly when she realised, she’d been caught in her incongruency. Still, she tried to be nonchalant about it, letting the hand drop from his chest and running her fingers through her hair, a strand falling over her forehead. He had to resist the urge to push it away from her eyes. It wasn’t the right moment to be the fool.
After a few seconds of silence, Elle let a soft laugh escape her lips, a clearly inebriated chuckle she tried to mask as something normal, though she’d never laughed like that, before. She looked around, like she was only then realising she’d gone looking for him right in front of his apartment just to tell him not to call a girl who was interested in him. Without a valid reason, more than that!
What was she afraid of? That he’d stop letting himself be pulled into her little games, if he actually started seeing something? That he’d be less wrapped around her finger, less bound to her? That he’d stopped being the fool he’d been for her ever since that kiss and forget everything he’d started feeling for her after that had happened? If only it’d been that easy.
If only it’d been that easy to forget her. But she was—she was unforgettable, she was under his skin, in his bones. He was relentlessly bewitched by her eyes and pulled in by everything she was, and that was probably what angered him the most. His own stupidity.
Because he knew she’d never truly cared about him, not like that and yet, he couldn’t help but hope that, one day, she’d actually look at him twice. And not simply because she wanted to prove something to herself, she wanted to prove how much power she had on him, not simply because he was fun to toy with; but because she wanted to.
He had every intention of never playing along her games again, but when she wanted something, she got it. He was too weak to run, though he wished he could have. He at least wanted to know where she was going with this, because it was getting confusing. It seemed no one was more confused than she was, in the end, because she pointed a finger towards him, before half-stuttering out an answer so unlike her it almost made him laugh.
“Because—because not!” it almost made him laugh but, at the same time, made him feel just that little more irritated, because he couldn’t believe she didn’t know. She’d probably waited so long in front of his apartment to ask him not to call Lila, and then, when he’d asked her about it, the only answer she could give him was that she didn’t want him to because she didn’t want him to.
A rather exasperated and bitter chuckle did leave his throat without him realising it, because that whole situation was more than unbelievable. Elle blinked at him even more confusedly than before, though it seemed she was looking past him, lost in her thoughts.
Before he could change his mind, or simply lose the determination to let the subject fall (considering that arguing with a very inebriated person didn’t seem the best idea), he stepped around her. He just wanted to go home. Didn’t matter if he knew he’d spend the rest of the night tossing and turning, thinking about what he should’ve done. He didn’t want her to stop him from calling someone he’d felt a connection with, especially when she didn’t have a good reason for it.
He shrugged, and she followed the movement with her eyes, those eyes she hadn’t stopped staring at him with for even a second.
“You’re drunk, Elle,” it seemed like the words barely registered in her mind; either that, or she didn’t understand why it would’ve possibly mattered. Well, he didn’t want her to care about him only when either of them was desperate, for a reason or another.
He did want her to understand this. To understand that he wasn’t only there to play her games. To understand that she was only playing with his heart. That he wasn’t one who took anything at all lightly. “And you haven’t given me a good reason not to call Lila,” and he wanted her to understand this, as well. He hadn’t changed his mind, because she hadn’t given him any valid reason why he shouldn’t have done so. If she truly cared about him, that wasn’t enough.
Unfortunately for him, he realised too late that he shouldn’t have said those words, because he’d done nothing more than play with fire. Something sparked in her eyes, the moment those words left his lips, and he could only stare as she walked towards him once more, without giving him time to realise what was going on.
She grabbed his face, pulled him down towards her and kissed him. This time, it wasn’t a simple press of lips, like it’d been the first time, when she’d asked him to show her what he’d got. No, this time, she was giving it everything she had, everything she had to give for how drunk she was.
Everything in him yelled he should’ve pushed her away, should’ve told her he was tired of games and he wanted to clearly hear what she wanted from him; that she was drunk, and she didn’t know what she was doing (though it was hard to believe Elle Greenaway would’ve ever not known what she was doing).
But, for how much he tried to fight it, he found himself melting against her, against the warmth of her lips, of her hands cupping his cheeks, nails lightly sunk into his skin. That kiss was something else. It didn’t feel like she was kissing him to prove something, but because she wanted to. Which was such a ridiculous thought, but he couldn’t help it.
She had to care about him, in some way more than a friend, because he didn’t see why she’d be there, otherwise. In the end, she could’ve had anyone, because she was—she was rather indescribable. She could’ve had anyone else; it wouldn’t have been hard for her to find someone else to toy with.
Yet, she was there, with him. And he couldn’t make sense of it, not at all. He didn’t want to get his hopes up when he was sure she’d let them fall, the day after, once she’d gotten what she wanted. Even if she did feel something more for him, it didn’t seem to matter.
There wasn’t anything they could’ve been. He should’ve been fine with it, but, unfortunately, he wasn’t. People did such things usually; people accepted to keep things casual, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t kiss her when either of them felt like something was wrong and pretend there was nothing between them the rest of the time. He wasn’t that strong. More than that, he was sure she would’ve escaped, had she found out he had deeper feelings for her, and it was the last thing he wanted.
At the same time, for how much he tried to fight, he couldn’t push her back, he couldn’t reject her. Not when everything felt like a fever dream, not when his heart was hammering against his chest so fast, he was afraid it’d break one of his ribs and every thought he’d ever had was gone from his mind.
He shouldn’t have been kissing her: not when she didn’t want him, not when he knew he had every intention of calling Lila back, but he’d been so desperately and helplessly craving another kiss since the first they’d shared, and he couldn’t lie, not anymore, not in that moment. Not when she was kissing him like that. The alcohol in her system was making her a little unstable, less controlled.
He could tell it from the way she moved her lips against his, teeth biting and tongue searching, seemingly almost violently trying to give him a good reason. He couldn’t have moved away even if he’d wanted to; and he didn’t, he so completely didn’t. He had the sudden and terrifying thought that he would’ve let her do anything she wanted, and it was something he’d never felt before. There was something to her so captivating he found himself lost at sea every time he looked into her irises, and it was beginning to become a problem.
She kissed him like she wanted to devour him, and he suddenly realised that perhaps, the glint she’d seen in her eyes as she observed him climbing out of the pool hadn’t been pity or sneer. It’d been—jealousy. He didn’t want to linger on that thought for too long, because it didn’t seem to make sense. She couldn’t have been jealous, because that would’ve implied she cared more about him that she wanted to let on. That perhaps, she hadn’t only been toying with him, and there had been something there. He couldn’t believe it. He was tired of being such a fool. Yet, nothing in the way she was kissing him made him think he was wrong.
In that moment, without a precise reason, he found himself being nudged against the wall behind him and there was nothing more he could’ve done other than wrap his arms around her, searching for some stability. But she didn’t want him to find any, because she didn’t stop kissing him, not for a second, taking hold of his head, keeping him close; she was in charge, and she knew it very well. Not that he minded. He didn’t even mind letting her know how much of a goner he was for her.
That strange, out-of-character, desperate kiss had turned into something almost rough, something frenzied, sloppy. He would’ve worried about the fact that they were still very much in the middle of the street, normally, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, as she let her tongue trace a path down his jaw, making him feel like he was about to have a heart-attack at the ripe age of twenty-four. Oh, god. She was trying to kill him.
After that, she kissed him once more, before pulling back painfully slow, biting down on his bottom lip with such strength he was afraid he’d bleed. She pushed a strand of his hair behind his ear, letting her fingers rest on the shell. She said nothing for a long moment, such a long moment he felt the urge to rush forward and kiss her again; but he didn’t want to give himself such liberties.
She simply stared, her eyes filled with that fire he’d dared to play with; they hadn’t totally gone back to normal. There was still something so confused in them, but, at the same time, it seemed she was just as hopeless as him. Which wasn’t something he’d thought he’d ever see, not from her. Still, they didn’t make him feel any less like he was drowning; they took his breath away even more. He’d always believed he liked blue, bright eyes, but he’d never truly realised before that those were simply the safest option; they seemed to hide way less secrets.
Finally, right when he was about to say something, right when he’d convinced himself she’d completely lost herself in her thoughts, she leaned closer, even though she’d never pushed herself back more than a few centimetres. She blew a puff of air, not differently than she’d done when she was smoking, towards his lips, and he could swear he’d felt them tingling; he was still so out of breath. That had been something.
“Is this good enough of a reason?” her voice was still slightly rough, but he suspected it had to do more with the kiss than with the cigarette she’d been holding before, this time. And it’d been nothing more than a broken whisper, though he wouldn’t have been able to say the reason.
He wished he could’ve said it wasn’t. He wished he could’ve told her that she simply couldn’t walk up to him and kiss him and expect him to be perfectly fine with it. He wished he could’ve told her he wasn’t merely there to be toyed with. He wished he could’ve told her that he hated how she only cared about him when she liked and pretended he wasn’t there the rest of the time. He wished he could’ve told himself he wasn’t that foolish. But he was.
Everything he’d told himself, repeated himself, had disappeared from his mind. Every thought of Lila had disappeared from his mind. There was space for nothing else other than the woman in front of him, still so close it was even more suffocating than when they’d been kissing. Right then, he couldn’t have cared less that he had feelings for her she probably didn’t share; what mattered was that she was there.
In the end, it could’ve only meant she indeed felt something for him. He didn’t know whether she was too proud to admit that or she simply wouldn’t have been interested in a relationship at all, not with him, not with anyone else. Those were all questions he wanted to ask her, eventually.
Eventually, he would ask her what he meant to her, he would ask her what she wanted to be, he would ask her why. Eventually. In that moment, all he could find the strength to do, was place a hand on her cheek, bend forward and kiss her again.
From the way she hummed against his lips and buried her fingers into his hair, he could tell she didn’t have anything against that. And if his heart kept reminding him he wanted more, it didn’t matter. Not when it felt like he had everything. Even for just a second.