Chapter 217
Summer's POV
"Kiss me," I said. "Really kiss me. Not like before when you were being careful or worried about doing it wrong. Just—" My voice broke. "I need you to stop holding back."
Something in him shifted. I felt it in the way his whole body went still for one heartbeat, two. Then his hands were in my hair and he was pulling me up on my toes and his mouth was on mine.
This wasn't like the tentative kiss outside the convenience store. This was desperate and raw and everything he'd been keeping locked behind his ribs. His lips moved against mine with an urgency that made my knees weak, one hand tangled in my hair while the other wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against him.
I made a sound—surprise or relief or maybe just pure need—and he swallowed it, deepening the kiss. His right hand was shaking where it pressed against my lower back, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he held me tighter.
The world narrowed to this: the taste of coffee on his tongue, the way his breath hitched when I kissed him back with equal fervor, the solid warmth of his body against mine. My hands slid from his jacket to his shoulders, his neck, threading through his hair.
He made a low sound in his throat that sent heat racing through me. His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, trailing kisses that made me gasp. When he reached the spot just below my ear, I felt him smile against my skin.
"Kieran—"
"I know." His voice was rough, wrecked. "I know, I just—" He pulled back enough to look at me, his forehead resting against mine. "I've wanted to do that since the day you walked into that coffee shop soaking wet."
I laughed, breathless and dizzy. "That's very specific."
"You were wearing that yellow sundress." His thumb traced my cheekbone. "Your hair was dripping onto your shoulders and you were trying so hard to act like you weren't freezing. And all I could think about was—" He broke off, his jaw tightening again.
"What?" I prompted, my hands still tangled in his hair.
"How badly I wanted to wrap you in my jacket and never let go." He said it like a confession. Like something he'd carried so long it had worn grooves into him.
"I wouldn't have minded," I whispered.
His eyes searched mine, looking for something. Not permission this time—we were past that. More like he was trying to memorize the moment. To make sure he could hold onto it later.
"I'm still figuring out how to do this," he said finally. His voice was steady, but raw at the edges. "Being someone's—being yours. I don't have a playbook for it."
"Good." I pulled him down for another kiss, softer this time but no less intense. "I don't want a playbook. I just want you to stay."
He kissed me back like he was drowning and I was air. Like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept shifting beneath his feet. His hands roamed my back, my sides, careful even in his desperation not to push too far.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. The light through the window had shifted, painting everything in shades of amber and shadow. Kieran's lips were swollen, his hair a mess from my fingers. He looked young and vulnerable and so beautiful it made my chest ache.
"Say something," I said when the silence stretched too long.
He closed his eyes, leaning into my touch. "I'm going to mess this up."
"Probably." I smiled when his eyes flew open. "And I'll mess it up too. But we'll figure it out together, okay? That's what this is. We figure it out together."
For a moment, he just stared at me. Then he was kissing me again, slower this time but with a tenderness that made tears prick at my eyes. His hands framed my face like I was something infinitely precious, and when he pulled back, his smile was small but genuine.
"Together," he repeated, testing the word. "I like the sound of that."
"Me too."
We stood there in the fading light, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other's air. Outside, I could hear the distant sounds of people leaving the gym, car doors slamming, engines starting. But in here, in this small dusty space that smelled like old sports equipment, it felt like we were the only two people in the world.
"I should get you home," Kieran said eventually, though he made no move to let me go. "Your mom's probably—"
"I don't care." The words came out fiercer than I intended. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
His arms tightened around me. "Summer—"
"No." I pulled back just enough to look at him. "I mean it. I don't care about the dinner party or what my mom thinks or any of it. I care about you. About this." I gestured between us. "About us finally being honest about what this is."
"And what is this?" His voice was quiet, careful.
"Everything," I said simply. "You're everything to me, Kieran Cross."
I watched the words land, watched the way his breath caught and his eyes went glassy. Then he was kissing me again, pouring everything he couldn't say into the press of his lips against mine.
When we finally made it out of the equipment shed, the parking lot was nearly empty. Kieran kept my hand tucked in his as we walked, his thumb tracing absent patterns on my skin. Neither of us spoke, but we didn't need to. Everything that mattered had already been said.
My phone buzzed as we reached his bike. Seven missed calls from Victoria. Three texts asking where I was. I should have felt guilty, should have been worried about the consequences. But all I could feel was the warmth of Kieran's hand in mine and the ghost of his kisses still tingling on my lips.
"You're going to be in so much trouble," he said, eyeing my phone screen.
"Worth it." I looked up at him, at the way the streetlight caught the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his mouth. "Completely worth it."
He smiled then, a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. Then it faded into something more practical as he glanced down at my dress—the long hem of the performance gown pooling over my heels.
"Okay, we have a logistics problem." He shrugged off his jacket and held it out. "Wrap this around your waist. Unless you want to give the whole neighborhood a show."
I took the jacket, still warm from his body, and knotted it around my hips so the fabric pinned the skirt in place. It smelled like him—leather and something faintly woodsy—and I had to fight the urge to just bury my face in it.
Kieran pulled the single helmet from the back of the bike and settled it over my head, adjusting the strap under my chin with careful fingers. When I opened my mouth to protest, he cut me off.
"Don't even start."
"But you—"
"I'll go slow." His tone left no room for argument. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his knuckles brushing my jaw. "I'm not the one in heels on the back of a motorcycle."
I kicked off the heels. Just stepped right out of them, the cold asphalt biting my bare feet.
"Problem solved," I said, dangling them from two fingers.
He stared at me for a beat, then laughed—a real, startled laugh that I wanted to bottle and keep. "You're insane."
"You like it."
"Yeah." His voice went soft. "I really do."
The ride back was quiet, but the comfortable kind of quiet. I wrapped my arms around his waist and pressed my cheek against his back, the helmet slightly too big and tilting with the motion of the bike. The city lights blurred past us, but I barely noticed. All I could focus on was the solid warmth of him, the way he took every turn slower than he needed to, the way he occasionally reached down to squeeze my hand where it rested on his stomach.
When we pulled up in front of my house, all the lights were on. Victoria was probably pacing the living room, rehearsing her lecture. I should have cared. Should have been dreading the confrontation.
Instead, I just tightened my arms around Kieran one more time before letting go.