8

8

Newton

I don't make out on a first date. I was well aware that most guys my age did all that, and more. But never me. Was what we were doing here an exception? Or was it so far out of my realm of possibility, I'd never formed an official stance against it?

Either way, the lack of rules wasn't scary.

It was freeing.

The kiss itself was awkward—and it was absolutely perfect. I fumbled to slip a hand around Angus but was immediately tangled up in the flannel shirt tied around his waist. With a huff of frustration, I stood us both up and backed him against the kitchen counter, one hand at his hip and the other threading through the hairspray at the nape of his neck.

He smiled against my mouth, then flipped me around, trapping me beside the sink as he rode my thigh and raked his teeth over my lower lip. A rush of need surged straight down to the spot where my fly rubbed up against his jutting hipbone, and I suspected things would go a lot farther than just making out, if that was what I wanted.

This guy I'd only just met—bold and intriguing and way too cool for me—made a small sound in his throat as I drew my thumb along his sharp jawline.

I definitely wanted.

I formed the word "yes" against his mouth, and he eased both hands up the hem of my shirt. The touch of skin on skin was electric—but then some other thing prodded me in the back, and I shook him off with a startled flinch.

Angus disengaged immediately, looking a lot more vulnerable than I imagined he could, lips flushed from kissing. I turned around and spotted the culprit: the can of Happiness. It had toppled onto its side and rolled across a crooked countertop. Nothing more.

"Don't worry, it's only—" I picked it up to show him, but then paused, baffled, and gave it a shake and something shifted inside it. "Hold on." I shook it again. The solidity I'd felt back in the store had been replaced by an ominous slosh, and the can weighed only half as much as it had before. Maybe less.

"Forget about that. It'll keep." Angus plucked the can from my grasp…then scowled and gave it a good shake himself. "Huh."

He turned it around, checking for leaks. But I already knew he wouldn't find anything.

"Well," he said, "whatever the deal is, I refuse to be preempted by a can from the closeout rack." With that, he yanked open a kitchen drawer and pulled out a can opener.

I felt a flash of panic. This can had been present every step of the way—from a conversation piece at the grocery store to an excuse to show up on Angus's doorstep. I've never been one for superstition. But I also couldn't bear to let our Happiness escape.

I grabbed for the opener, but Angus didn't let go. Instead, he used my grip on it to pull me closer. Chest to chest now, I said, "Maybe we shouldn't."