Razor screams confidence. The way he talks. The way he walks. The way he stands. It’s like he doesn’t care about anyone or anything and I wish I could be him.
“Then why the astronomy lesson?”
There’s a pain in my chest. The internal warning I’ve learned to live by. The one that’s kept me from being tortured. It’s the voice that has meant survival in the wild jungles of school hallways. Stay quiet. Stay unknown. Hide who you are. Keep yourself safe.
But tonight was for risks. I was supposed to break out of my mold and, for a few minutes tonight, I was a girl full of life. Maybe the clock hasn’t struck midnight yet. Maybe there’s some magic remaining in this night. “I came here hoping to be kissed.”
Razor’s face goes blank, and it’s clear out of all the things he was expecting me to say, that wasn’t it. He scratches his jaw and my lips twitch at his baffled expression. I confused a biker. There should be points to be won for this.
“Did that happen?” he asks in a low voice.
I shake my head. Sadly, no. I did dance, though. I danced and danced and danced to the point my feet hurt and it was tiring to smile, but when the guy eased close enough—his body practically on mine and the energy began to build—I lost the courage to raise my head and accept what I possibly could have been granted.
In the end, I wussed completely out.
“Why would you want to come here and do something like that?” he demands.
“People do it.”
“What?”
“Kiss.”
He nods like he understands what I’m neglecting to mention. That people at school and TV and books and movies show that people kiss just to do it and it’s normal and obviously I’m not normal. My lips squish to the side. I bet Razor’s beyond normal and has kissed plenty of girls.
Razor inches toward me and the thoughts of him kissing me reenter my brain. “I would’ve thought you’d be the type who only kissed someone she had feelings for.”
“Because I’m a prude? Because I’m weird?”
“No, because you come off as a person who thinks things through.”
“That’s me,” I say, heavy on the bitterness, “the logical one.”
Razor appears unhappy with my response, but his happiness isn’t my problem. But what he said, about kissing someone I cared for, that would be awesome—falling in love with somebody, but I don’t have hopes of that happening anytime soon. If ever.
Sadness becomes a weight as I admire Reagan’s borrowed dress. The dress is gorgeous and I love it, but Kyle was right. I’m playing dress-up, just like I did at orientation. I’m not being myself. Tonight was fun, but like choosing silence at school, visiting the bar was a different type of escape. I thought I had the courage to be me, but I’m still hiding behind a facade.
“Most of us regret it,” he says.
My eyebrows knit together. “What?”
“Kissing just for the sake of kissing. Most times, people regret it.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s not true. If it were, there would be more people like me and I’m obviously not the epitome of cool.”
“Think what you want, but I’m telling you how it is.”
Razor moves and it’s slow and he regains my attention. My heart patters with each gained centimeter in my direction. Eventually, he’s in front of me again and so near that my knees brush against his thighs. He reaches toward me and smooths my hair behind my ear. His fingers lightly graze the skin of my neck and I suck in a breath with the beautiful teasing tickle.
“Why here?” he asks.
I shrug. “Just wanted to be wild tonight. To act differently than I normally do.”
“Wild?”
“Wild,” I repeat, and I can’t help the smile that accompanies the word. I must sound insanely silly to him.
“Kissing a strange guy at a bar isn’t wild,” he says. “It’s cliché.”
“Is that right?”
“It is.”
He stares at my lips like he’s having blush-worthy thoughts that involve me. I should say something witty or intelligent, but I’ve been placed on mute.
“I’ll tell you what,” he continues. “If you want wild—if you want a kiss that breaks the rules, I’ll give you one, but not here, not now.”
I think my heart exploded. Razor of the Reign of Terror—the guy all the girls have dreamed about for years—has offered to kiss me. “When?”
“When I say.” His lips edge up, sending a thrill through my bloodstream. “If you have the nerve.”
“I’ll have it,” I exclaim.
“I’ll remember you agreed to this.”
“So will I. My mind is a steel trap.”
He laughs and I frown. He said something earlier about me being drunk and maybe I am, but he doesn’t understand. When I say I’ll remember, I will. “My mind’s messed up. Messed up like there’s something wrong with me.”
Razor’s face falls. “What?”
I wave off his concern. “It’s not brain damage. Well...maybe. I have this huge family, so maybe I was dropped on my head a couple times as a kid. It wouldn’t shock me. You should have seen how many times Liam dropped Joshua, but anyhow, according to my parents I was born with my wires crossed. You see, whenever I learn something that’s random, it stays.”
Razor scratches his jaw again, and this time I notice how smooth it is. I would give anything to skim my fingers against his skin. Now, that would be bold.