With a hand on his chest, I ease him back a step. I smile him—extra syrupy—and his own grin grows, all dimples. He’s feeling pretty confident right now. I can’t wait to tear him down. My fingertip skims the neck of his T-shirt, my palm curving over the nape of his neck as I guide his face down to mine. He grips my hips as my lips graze his ear, and I hate how good he smells. There’s an irrational part of me that wants to lick him like a freaking ice cream cone. “It’s gonna be a no from me.” I watch that smug smile melt right off his handsome face before it disappears behind the door I slam.
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