20. MADDIE

CHAPTER 20

MADDIE

" C an we start the session?" Aran asks.

"Yes, of course. Although, um, you didn't send me your assigned reading in advance this time."

I swallow hard. The truth is I'm about to explode from nerves. I knew he was alive because Archie caught glimpses of him at practice and fed us what little info he had. But I almost feel as if I'm meeting Aran for the first time again today, even though it's only been four days since I last saw him. Or four days since I realized I don't know him that well. But wish I did.

I suck in air through my teeth. Ever since he poofed after the game, I worried about two things. One, that something happened to him. Two, what my reaction would be when I saw him again. Now that fear one hasn't been realized, the second one slams me with the force of a sledgehammer.

There's no dressing this up as anything other than what it is. I have a huge crush on Aran Rodriguez. And I need to swallow it down.

I can just imagine his reaction if he were to find out. He'd be weirded out at best, freaked out at worst. He'd wanted a guy tutor all along precisely to avoid being hit on while trying to study. I can't do that to him.

I pretend I'm busy with my own work, but I'm acutely aware of every move he makes. Aran takes his laptop from his backpack and settles it across from mine. One of his hands is draped around the back of the screen, and I can almost feel the touch against me.

At some point during the skating non-date, when I got too warm from the exercise, I removed my gloves and stuffed them in my pockets. Which meant, occasionally, he grabbed my bare hand with his enormous, calloused one. But his skin was soft in parts, his hand strong and as hot as the sun now bathing us in this corner. I wish I could feel it again in all its glory.

My inbox pings with an email from Aran containing the reading packet. I better focus on that instead.

After skimming it quickly, Aran and I discuss his ideas for the essay, and he gets to work. Just like that. No further comment about anything else whatsoever.

That's… good. Safer. I can try to keep this session professional, as if he were any of my other students.

It takes me several tries and emptying my water bottle until I'm able to focus on my own work. And by work, I don't mean the one for school. I mean the hockey romance book.

I've poured all my frustrations into writing for the past few days, breaking my own daily word count record two days in a row. Now I'm halfway through the book, and the main characters are going to kiss for the first time. As I build up to that climax, it occurs to me that thinking about this while sitting across from Aran may not be such a great idea.

I glance over my screen and find him concentrated on his own work. His eyes run through the screen, probably rereading a passage from the business case. He moistens his lips with his tongue, and I stab my eyes back on my own screen. I delete two whole paragraphs because two seconds of Aran licking his lips was so much hotter than everything I've written until now.

Maybe I should use that as inspiration. Maybe the female lead should stare at the male lead as he runs his tongue across his lips after a sip of beer.

I run my fingers across my keyboard, trying that angle. Instead of making them fight right away and then kiss, there should be more hints about what's going to happen. Raise the tension that way.

A zipping sound pierces through the quiet. It's Aran, opening his black hoodie to reveal a thin gray shirt underneath. Is it just me, or are his eyes a little hooded as he watches me back?

"Feeling warm?" I blurt out.

He smirks a little but says nothing, then gets back to work.

Well, I'm not feeling warm. I'm boiling now. But unlike him, I can't unzip my flannel dress to cool down.

I attempt going back to the scene, but I hate every single word on the screen and delete them again. I feel so inadequate writing a make-out scene between a hot girl and a hot guy, being the least attractive girl on the planet and sitting across the most gorgeous male specimen in history.

Closing my eyes, I search my memory for inspiration for this scene. Obviously, my own experience won't cut it. But I've read thousands of romance books and watched countless kisses on-screen. Their success wasn't so much because of the mechanics but on how urgent the desire between the characters was. That's what I need to translate into this book.

"What's got you struggling so much?"

I nearly jump out of my skin, even though Aran doesn't shout the question. His voice is a low murmur that wraps around my senses. When I open my eyes, his attention is on me. I wish I knew for how long.

"Um, just a scene in my book."

"The hockey one?" He's leaning back in his chair, appearing bored for all intents and purposes. But the fact that he's talking means he's either procrastinating, or he's in a good mood.

I'm curious as to which one of the options it is, so I play along. "Yup."

"Need help?"

Procrastinating it is, I think as I narrow my eyes. A glint of amusement appears in his eyes, confirming my suspicions.

"Aran, get back to work."

"I can't concentrate with your squirming and sighing and lip biting."

I gasp. "I was not!"

"It's not the hockey part giving you a hard time now, is it? It's the romance part."

"Wait, how did you know?"

"It was all the squirming and sighing and lip biting." A smirk appears on his face. Probably because my face is combusting. I clear my throat. Fold my arms. His smile widens. I focus on his eyes instead.

Mistake. I hope he's not reading my mind, otherwise he'd know I was wondering what kissing him would feel like.

"Well, writing romance is hard." My voice comes out a bit too squeaky.

"Oh?" Aran leans forward. "What aspect of romance?"

"Nothing like that, you perv." Or not yet. I'm not sure I can handle writing something too spicy. I may simply die trying.

"I'm not the one thinking about romance in the middle of the library."

In a burst, I kick him under the table, and he doesn't even flinch.

"It's just a kissing scene! Nothing as saucy as you're implying."

"Why would it be so hard, then?"

I put my face in my hands and groan. I seem to have forgotten in the past few days how annoying Aran can get when his amusement is at my expense. Even though he also makes butterflies flit about in my stomach with that smile.

"It's just hard, okay?" I say into my hands. "Not everyone has extensive experience to write about."

"Wait, have you never been kissed?"

"Of course I've been kissed!" I roar, as if this were a matter of pride.

It takes me a moment to remember that this conversation isn't happening in my living room. I lift my head and nearly die as a trio of students down the table give me looks of pity, disbelief at my bold declaration dripping from their faces.

Slowly, I face forward. Aran's eyebrows are up as far as they go. He's biting his lips as if holding back laughter. As if he, too, didn't believe me.

"Really." Not a question. He folds his arms. His pecs tighten, and the thin fabric doesn't hide them. "That's obviously why you aren't struggling with this scene, huh?"

I purse my lips. "I'm just trying to describe the mechanics in a way that?—"

"You need help. Admit it."

I suck in air before clamping my mouth shut.

Aran tilts his head and blinks slowly, as if my bravado were a boring little interlude to the truth that, yeah, I have no flipping clue what I'm doing. I bite my lip and press the enter key several times.

"Fine. Write what you know isn't going too well this time." I put my hands on my face again. "Ugh, I can't believe you made me admit that aloud. Anyway, it's not like I can walk up to some random guy and ask him to give me the epic kiss I need as inspiration for this scene."

"I'm not a random guy, but you can ask me."

Going by his expression, he asked me about the weather and I hallucinated the past thirty seconds.

I start laughing. At myself. That's definitely what happened. I'm finally losing my mind.

Aran's smirk comes back. "Am I not your reverse tutor?"

Just like that, my laughter snuffs out. I blink hard. Open and close my mouth. "You're kidding."

"Am I laughing?"

No. He looks amused, but I've heard him laugh before. I know he's capable of it. And if he's not doing it right now, it means he's serious.

Flashes of fire and ice travel up my body. I clear my throat once. Twice. Push my hair behind my ears. Finally, I find the words to say, "You said hockey only," and follow them up with a weak laugh.

"Well, who else are you going to ask to make out with you for book research?" Aran shrugs, arms still folded. "That's what this is, anyway. Nothing else."

"Right." I nod rapidly. Then I start shaking my head so he won't take my gesture as agreement. "No. It's one thing to ask you what icing is, it's another to…to … play tonsil hockey."

"But isn't that what your hockey tutor is for?"

"Now I know you're pulling my leg."

Aran grins. "Let me give you the inspiration you need, Maddie."

Oh my word. He has no idea what he's doing to me, does he?

A bead of sweat trickles down my temple, and I wipe it away. Then rub my hands together. The cursor keeps blinking against a completely blank page, the result of my absolute lack of a love life.

And then I remember when Aran Rodriguez first walked into my life, as if the heavens had sent him precisely so I could get off my behind and do all the things I've always been scared to do. I stood up to my bullies. I found new friends. I learned something new. Somehow, I had the courage to do all that when I was next to Aran.

I glance at him again. Maybe that's what this is. A chance to try something I otherwise would never dare to. What Aran is offering is an epic kiss. The kind I've always wanted. When else would I have the chance to kiss the guy I'm into without showing my hand?

"For my book," I say, my heart thumping wildly in my ears and almost making me dizzy.

"No strings attached."

His voice sounds weird, but that could be because I'm having trouble anchoring in reality. I grip the edge of the table hard.

"Right. Okay."

"Let's go." Aran pushes his chair back and starts to get up.

"What?" I whisper, checking our surroundings to see if anyone's paying attention to this mess. "Right now?"

He deadpans, "When else? In five days? Yeah, right now."

And then he does the thing. The one that nearly undid me when he took me skating. He bends his fingers in a c'mon gesture.

As if I'm having an out of body experience, I find myself standing up too. I walk around the table until Aran clasps his hand in mine and tugs me along. He faces forward, and I stare at the back of his head, at the muscles in his neck.

What the heck are we doing? Are we really going to find somewhere to make out? Just like that?

The library is almost empty, and most of the people we pass ignore us. Aran weaves through them to the middle hallway. I feel his hand readjust its grip on mine a little tighter. The sensation rushes through my body like a lick of fire.

When he leads us down the path between two shelves, I say, "If this is a prank, it's not funny."

All I hear is a little snort.

Aran passes the narrow corridor between the windows and the end of the shelves. Pulling at my hand, he settles me against the end of the bookshelf and finally lets me go. A gasp tears out of me as he leans an arm above my head against the shelf, which brings him so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

On reflex, my hands push against his chest. "Wait."

He halts.

A weird giggle falls from my mouth. "I'm just wondering how epic a planned kiss like this can be, you know?"

"Oh, I'll show you. Close your eyes, Maddie."

"Maddie? Not Strawberry?"

Aran is so large he blocks out the light and casts me in shadow. Yet the closer he gets, the hotter the air becomes.

"Are you chickening out, Maddie ?"

Yes.

No. I'll still seize the opportunity.

"Okay, fine. Show me what it's like to be thoroughly kissed, then," I say in blatant challenge, desperately hoping he takes the bait and that this isn't a bluff.

Aran's eyes fall to my lips and then his stretch into a little smile. "Brace yourself."

I take in air as if I were diving into the ocean. Then his free hand holds my neck, tilting my head back. But it's not an anchor. Instead, it makes me fall so hard and so fast, I have to close my eyes against the vertigo.

You know that ah-ha moment when you solve a puzzle? That's how it feels the second Aran's lips press against mine. Like I finally found the last piece I was looking for—and it fits seamlessly.

Aran's lips are oh so soft as they caress my bottom one with languid care, as if he has all the time in the world for that alone. Strength starts leaving my body at the soft pull of his lips, and I sag against the shelf. His fingers twine with my hair deliciously, another caress.

My hands travel up his chest, tracing the hard planes until I find his neck. Then I let one hand continue to the velvet soft hair at his nape.

A rumbling sound comes from his chest. Before I know it, his tongue runs across my lips and his other hand comes around my body, bringing me flush against him. Shocked at the sudden closeness, I open my mouth to gasp, and that's all he needs to deepen the kiss.

The touch of his tongue against mine tears a sound out of me that makes him smile against my mouth. But then his tongue caresses mine in a hot, wet stroke, and I die—only to come to life when he does it again. It feels like more than just one kiss. Like a promise of something more.

I don't know what comes over me, but I grab his head in both hands and try to push him closer. The wet, sucking sounds of our mouths should embarrass me, tear me back to reality.

But they don't.

Not when one of his hands is tangled in my hair, holding my head so he can have full access to my mouth. Not when his other hand presses against my lower back until there isn't a molecule of air between us.

I gasp for air when, with a sucking sound, he lets go all of a sudden. But Aran's not done. Softly, he pulls at my hair until I arch back as far as I can. I blink against the stars dancing on the ceiling. And then his mouth is on my neck.

"Was that inspiring enough?" he mumbles against the skin under my ear before placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss and gently suckling at the skin. I feel the pull all the way to my toes.

Something that sounds like the love child between a groan and a mewl comes out of my chest. My skin is on fire and my heart is pounding full throttle, and he must obviously realize all this.

Oh, this guy knows how to drive a girl wild with his mouth alone. And he hasn't even used the rest of his body.

As if reading my mind, Aran chuckles. His hold at the back of my head grows a little gentler, and he leans me back against the shelf.

He's not completely breathless like I am, but his nostrils flare with his rapid breathing, and I feel the thrum of his pulse against my hand on his chest. Aran's dark eyes are at half mast, still fixed on my lips. He licks his slowly, as if savoring the taste of mine on them.

I gasp at how strongly I felt that. Everywhere.

Aran's eyes shift back up to mine. We're suspended in silence for a long moment. Me, because my brain packed up its bags and left the building. Him, I don't know why. But then he reaches for my face. His thumb wipes at the moisture under my lower lip, and I shudder.

"And that," he says, his voice raspy and thick, "is how you get thoroughly, epically kissed, Madeline Berkley. Go write that."

"Oh." I collapse against the bookshelf.

Aran pulls away. With one last look that could melt someone's clothes off, he turns away and leaves me a mess.