Without overthinking, I leaned across the center console and pecked him on the cheek. Bright lipstick embellished his skin. Callum himself smelled of a subtle aftershave, perhaps with a name like Himalayan Rain or Cool Waters. Nuclear fuchsia blazed on his face and ears once I withdrew. His fingers had remained clamped around the steering wheel all the while, the way one would grip the wheel if driving over a rickety one-lane bridge with no guardrails. I brushed a thumb over the pink smear and made it worse. Callum swallowed heavily. Crap. Would he read the friendly peck as a sign of interest?
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