Page 177 of Never Not Friends

“Wow, you’re really bad at making pancakes,” I say as I kiss her neck.

“Someone’s distracting me. I can’t flip them when you’re kissing me like that.”

My lips pause against her skin, and I look up. I watch her flip another as it folds onto itself.

“I don’t think it has anything to do with me,” I whisper into her ear.

“It has everything to do with you.” She spins around, tangling her fingers in my hair.

We get lost in another kiss.

We don’t break apart until the smoke alarm starts beeping.

“This one was your fault,” she says, waving her hand in front of the device and trying to force the smoke away while I throw the charred pancakes into the sink.

“Fine, I’ll take the blame this time. But we need to lock in, or we’ll burn my house down.”

“Agreed.” She nods. “No more kissing.”

“I can handle it if you can handle it.”

We manage to make six normal-looking pancakes and actually eat them.

There has to be some kind of award for that level of restraint.

But as we clean up, I make the mistake of reaching around her for the dish rag. My chest presses lightly against her back. Emma goes still. So do I. The rag is right there. I should take it, but I’m no longer thinking about wiping down the table. I’m thinking about the smooth curve of her exposed neck, the smell of her hair, the way I feel when she kisses me back.

These feelings are intense.

Instead of reaching for the towel, my fingers skim her arms. Up and down until she turns slightly and our lips brush together.

“Vinny!” she chides as she steps away.

“I know.” I back up suddenly and look at her.

We stare at each other then break into laughter.

I’ve kissed plenty of people in my life. Okay, not plenty. Four others besides Emma. But I’ve kissed plenty, and I’ve never felt like this.

Like every accidental touch is something.

Like I could spend an entire day holding her in my arms.

Like being told I can’t kiss Emma for twenty minutes is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.

Maybe it’s because, for years, Emma was filed away in my mind as someone who wasn’t interested in me. She was my friend. My first love. The girl I thought I would marry someday. The girl I had no business thinking about that way anymore.

And now she’s here, and all of that’s gone out the window.

The dam has officially broken, and apparently, my self-control went with it.

The look she gives me could catch my clothes on fire. “I’m not really mad at you.” She walks toward me. Her hands slide up my chest and around my neck, and my brain empties. I lift her slightly, moving her so she’s sitting on top of the counter, and lean in after her.

And I don’t even know which one of us goes in for the kiss first.

I just know I really, really like it.

Emma smiles against my mouth. “We’re hopeless.”