Page 66 of While the Sun Shines

Make up for last night, she asked for. Do it right this time. So gently, he kisses her lips again. Keeps his touch on her back polite. Hauls himself backward against that urge to slide his hands over her, push his fingers beneath the hem of her shirt, press his palm to the swell of her ass.

“Okay,” he whispers and kisses her again. Pulls back, breathes, kisses her once more. “Okay, wait, wait, wait.”

They should just turn on a movie. Each go on their phones until they’re tired enough to sleep. Drew should lie down with his back to her and keep what friendship he does have with her intact the way it is.

Her fingers dip into the collar of his shirt. “Drew,” Penny whispers and they kiss again, pull back, and then kiss again. And then again and again and again, their mouths dragging against each other’s, her teeth nipping at his lip, the slow slide of their tongues.

Her hands course over him, down to his stomach, catch between the press of their bodies, push around to his ribs where her fingers skate up to his shoulder blades, down to the small of his back.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Drew whispers.

She smooths her palms across his chest. “Probably not.”

But she tugs at his belt. Hooks a finger in his belt loop and blood sings through his veins.

We’re just kissing, he thinks. Pulls in a breath and it shakes. Gently, she plucks at his buckle. Slips the strap from beneath the keeper.

She doesn’t—she can’t—with me? he wants to ask, but fucking hell, the answer seems to be a fast-paced yes.

He grabs her hands. Pins them in place, when he wants to slide her palm lower, where he can feel himself growing hard against his zipper.

“Penny.”

“Stop?” she asks, her eyes dark, her lips wet.

“This is—” He can barely breathe. Penny has to know how he’s reacting to this. Has to feel and see the strain in his pants. “Do you—what’re we doing?”

She laughs. “I don’t know.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“You don’t want to?” she asks, and her voice is low and soft.

“Holy shit, Pen, of fucking course I do.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He licks at his lips. Breathes and the air he pulls in smells like her. “Pen, I’m not going to say no, so don’t count on me to be the voice of reason.”

“Are you going to say yes, though?”

Drew presses his forehead into her temple. Touches his nose to her cheek, squeezes her hands in his. Kissing is one thing. A peck on the lips, though they’ve gone and left that chasteness behind already. Even a handsy make out. Rolling around on a borrowed bed like they never did as teenagers.

His belt hangs loose where she pulled it from the keeper. He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t want to mess things up between us.”

“Okay,” she whispers. “But counterpoint, we could just be cool about this.”

“God, Pen.”

“Though counter-counterpoint, you’ve never been relaxed about anything in your life, so…”

“I can—if you want to, I—”

“Yeah, ’cause we all know you’re really good at being super relaxed and chill,” she says.

He lets out a short laugh. “You do know me so well.”

And you fucking want this, he thinks. Holy fucking shit.