“But isn’t this more fun?”

“Maybe.” Her pink lips pucker. “I haven’t made my move yet. I’m playing it cool.”

Not cool enough. Her eyes are shining, a tell-tale sign that she’s turned on, body alert. God she feels good pressed against me. We’re not doing anything besides standing here, but damn if it isn’t amazing.

I wait her out, letting her move at her own pace, for several reasons.

Because I have no idea how to make a move of my own. Mother Nature hasn’t taken over yet, although she could step in any fucking day now to help me along.

Charlie is technically the one who should be doing all the work, since that’s what the bet was about. Sort of.

Kind of.

I haven’t felt this kind of tension since my freshman year, when the football coaching staff made cuts and, even though I had a scholarship to play, I worried my position on the team was in jeopardy.

Naïve fool.

Still am.

Still ignorant about sex and relationships, like a kid trapped in a man’s body.

I might be large, but inside, I’m nothing but a virgin who has no idea what he wants or what he’s doing.

Scratch that: I know what I want—Charlie’s mouth on my lips, her body pressing against mine. And if she doesn’t hurry up and kiss me, I’ll lose my damn mind.

Charlotte Edmonds is everything sweet and soft and sexy, and I have my arms wrapped around her waist, the sound of her breath and the heat from her body throwing mine into turmoil.

Raging. Hormones.

Neglected libido, if you don’t count my jerking off—which I don’t. Masturbation doesn’t count; I have heard it’s a shitty substitute to actually boning someone and can’t imagine it comes close. I’ve never sunk myself into a warm pussy, but common sense tells me there’s no way my right hand feels remotely the same, even covered in lube.

“I haven’t been kissed in a really long time,” she finally says, eyes trained on my mouth. “Not a real kiss.”

“Same.”

“Have you ever heard that saying, ‘I haven’t had sex in so long I forgot how to moan—what if I fuck it up and start barking?’ I feel like that’s me right now, except we’re not having sex. Obviously.”

“I haven’t heard that sayin’.” A laugh escapes my throat. The quote is hilarious and embarrassingly accurate where I’m concerned. “Where’s it from?”

“The internet—Instagram. I didn’t make it up, but it applies to so many things.” Her giggle is nervous as she fidgets, my arms still around her. Charlie has made no move to pull away—a good sign since I want her to fucking kiss me. “I like your lips.”

She likes my lips. My hair. The cleft in my chin. The slope of my broad shoulders where her hands are resting, fingers fanned out, thumbs kneading the fabric of my soft t-shirt. I doubt she knows she’s doing it, moving instinctually as she stands before me, stroking my upper body.

In silence, we watch each other a bit longer. It should feel weird…awkward, even, but it doesn’t. No pressure. Nothing feels forced.

Charlie breaks the spell. “Technically, this isn’t our first kiss.”

“Technically that is true.” We did kiss briefly in my kitchen before my fucking roommates barged in.

“So. No big deal.” It sounds suspiciously as if she has to talk herself into not being nervous—a lot like I had to do when I was younger, psyching myself up for a football game.

“No big deal.”

“I mean…this is only going to take a few seconds, right?”

Right.

“So. Yeah.” She’s almost sighing, fingers playing with my hair.

“Yup.”

Charlie cocks her head to the side. “I’m not sure how I feel about you saying that.”

“Yup?”

“Yeah. For some reason…”

“It bothers you?” Huh. An odd thing to nitpick, but, whatever. I make a mental note to use bigger words when I reply to her and not dumb ones like yup and ’kay.

“Yes. I’m not sure why, though.”

“Huh.” Crap. That’s another one.

She’s stalling, and I don’t blame her. I’m a ball of nerves, too. The longer we stand here, the worse it gets until I want to throw up. This is worse than the nerves I had before the College Bowl, the first big championship I’d ever played in. Fifty thousand screaming football fans do not compare to this moment.

“Charlotte.” I wish my voice didn’t sound so weak.

“I know, I know, I’ll get there. Just give me a minute.”

“Just forget it.” I let my hands fall from her hips.

“No! Don’t!”

“All right. Okay, sorry.” I stifle a laugh as she reaches for my hands and places them back on her body. Back on her waist where it feels right.

They fucking belong there.

“Sorry.” She smooths back a few stray hairs, gathering herself. “I didn’t mean for you to stop touching me, I just… You get what I mean.”

I do. She’s nervous as the dickens and fidgety as a whore in church.

“All right. I’m going to kiss you now. Are you ready?”

Her pronouncement almost makes me laugh, but she’s serious, and I bite down on my bottom lip to stop the noise that’s creeping up my throat.

“Yu—” I pause, correcting myself. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Okay. Here I go.”

I clamp my mouth shut, trying not to press my lips together out of nerves as Charlie rises on her toes and leans forward, breasts once again pushing against my chest. It’s hard to say whether or not she’s wearing a padded bra, but dang—having the sensation of tits on my body is amazing.

Unreal.

I stand ramrod straight, still as stone, trying to keep my dick from getting hard out of sheer willpower as those lips of hers hover over mine, warm breath from her nose and mouth sweeping over my skin. She’s hesitating, eyes searching my face, presumably for the perfect spot to land her kiss.

Starting in the corner of my mouth, a gentle press of her mouth hits the small indentation. Pulls away.

Hums quietly, a delicate little hmm before moving in a second time.

Kisses the cleft in my chin she loves so much.

It tickles and I stifle a giggle—what am I, five? Jesus, Jackson, concentrate.

Charlie’s eyes are trained on my mouth—I can see them despite the light shining from behind her and into my eyes, blinding me. I might not be able to see anything but her silhouette, but I can still see the interest in her gaze.

The light suddenly flickers—goes out, the sound of the light bulb popping the only indication that someone didn’t shut it off from inside the house.

It’s dark. So dark, we stand waiting for our eyes to readjust, the only sounds our breathing and a car slowly passing by. I watch in my peripheral vision as it stops at the light, sitting far too long, its driver most likely texting.

Charlie’s hands cup my jaw, reminding me how good that felt when she did it earlier, only this time, it’s almost as if she’s memorizing the lines in my face now that she’s unable to see them.

I can finally see her better, better than I could with the porch light blinding me. The moon is full, and she’s alert, interested, beautiful. Intent on her goal, almost as if I’m not standing here with her, though I’m the focus of her mission.