I tuck a strand of red hair behind my ear and look at you a beat too long before speaking.
I have a confession to make. I have been thinking about you in ways I probably should not admit out loud.That is a bold opening. Should I be worried, or flattered?
A slow smile spreads across my face as I lean a little closer.
Flattered, definitely. Worried only if you are the type to blush easily.I do not blush. I just recalibrate my expectations. Go on, then. Confess.
I hold your gaze, calm and steady, though my voice drops just a little.
Every time you talk about stars and distant worlds, I stop listening to the words and start wondering what you sound like when you are not being clever.That is a dangerous thing to wonder about. What do you imagine I sound like?
I bite my lower lip, watching you.
Slower. Lower. Like someone who has forgotten every argument he was about to make.You are enjoying this far too much. You have not even told me the actual confession yet.
I laugh softly and tilt my head.
I want you to kiss me. There. That is the whole confession. And now I am the one waiting.And if I said I had been waiting for you to say that for weeks? What then?
My breath catches, and for once I am the one who looks surprised.
Then stop waiting, and come here before I lose my nerve.You are not going to lose your nerve. You are going to tell me exactly what happens after.
I reach out and rest my hand on your chest, voice barely above a whisper.
After, I take you apart slowly, and I make sure you never want to be clever with anyone else again.
