A Kiss, to Kiss, We Are Kissing
The four of us stepped into the cold night. The play had been great, and Terrance’s lighting was beautiful. We waited for a little while after the close, but I needed to get out of my heeled booties as soon as possible.
“I need to get away from the two of you,” Serena said. She hopped down the four steps that led out of the building. “I mean, honestly.” She turned toward us, looking up from the bottom of the stairs.
I shook my head, my hand snugly in Hudson’s. “Shut up,” I said, my face flushing.
“But seriously, though,” Michael added, lifting a hand at both of us. “I worked some major magic with these two, didn’t I?” He joined Serena at the bottom of the stairs.
Serena looked at us and then at Michael. “Oh, sweetie, this was bound to happen. If anything, you just sped it up a tiny bit.”
“All right,” I said, holding the last word, embarrassment seeping out of my pores. Hudson squeezed my hand. “Maybe you two should go.”
“Yeah, like back to Michael’s, for example,” Hudson added, his voice dripping with suggestion. He may as well have winked at his friend.
“Oh my God. Wow,” Serena said with a curt wave, walking in the direction of Michael’s car. “Oh-kay. Good night, then.”
Michael gave a quick salute to Hudson before jogging to catch up to Serena.
“That was embarrassing,” I said, sinking my face into his chest.
Hudson pressed his lips to my head. “It’s okay, P.P.” I felt his smile grow.
“I told you to stop calling me P.P.” I pushed Hudson away from me as we headed toward my dorm.
He smiled big as he caught my hand in his. “But it suits you, and I really, really love the way you hate it.”
“You love how much I hate it?” I asked, pulling him to a stop. I squeezed his hand as my stomach tumbled. He looked so good, and it was a beautiful night, and he’d draped his blazer over my shoulders before we left the building, even though my sweater was plenty warm. The night couldn’t have gone better.
“I do,” he said, swinging our hands.
“What part of me hating that name is your favorite?” I prodded.
We began walking again. “Well, for starters I love the way your cheeks get red and your eyes get squinty,” he said, pulling me in and kissing my forehead. “And I love the way you push me or pinch me or squeeze my hand tight.”
“I’ll just have to start doing things you don’t love, then,” I countered.
“Impossible.” He shook his head with determination.
“I’m sure there are a few things I could do that you wouldn’t love.” I smiled.
“Since we’re headed back to your room, you can show me all the things I’ll hate.”
“Oh, are you under the impression that you’re coming over?” I teased.
“I mean, we could easily just go to my room,” he said. “But Stephen J. is there, so…”
I squeezed his hand, shoving him with my shoulder.
“And plus, Serena told me she was staying at Michael’s and that I could spend the night and that I could eat all her Oreos.”
“Liar,” I said with a laugh. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that her reaction just now was entirely preplanned?”
He pulled me to a stop, my dorm a sidewalk and a set of stairs away. “Yes, that is what I’m telling you. One-hundred percent preplanned. She’s a great actress, right?” He pulled me into him.
“You are such a liar,” I said with a laugh.
“En français,” he said, pressing his lips to mine.
I smiled against his. “Menteur.”
“Bravo!” He kissed me hard once.
* * *
“La fleur.”
I ran my fingers down his abdomen as I thought, my head against his chest while he quizzed me.
“Flower,” I said.
He kissed my head in response. “Nous sommes allés.”
I didn’t know this one.
“You smell great,” I said, nuzzling my face into him, avoiding the vocab I didn’t know.
“Je sais,” he said. “Nous sommes allés.”
“And you looked really good tonight at the show,” I said, smiling into his chest. “You made me sweaty in inappropriate places.”
“Merci, d’avoir remarqué,” he said with a laugh, shaking his head. He knew I was avoiding answering. “I would really like to explore that statement further, but first: Nous sommes allés.”
“Le vin est bon,” I replied, saying one of the few phrases I knew by heart. The wine is good.
“C’est vrai! Nous sommes allés.”
I tilted my head so I could see his face. He smiled down at me, though not amused by my avoidance.
“Spell it,” I said, knowing that sometimes it helped to visualize words if I was having trouble understanding.
He spelled the words slowly. Punctuating the last letter with a kiss to my head.
“We went,” I said, guessing but feeling confident.
“Bravo,” he said, entwining our fingers over his midsection. “Nous allons apprendre.”
Oh, I knew this one. “We are learning,” I said with a smile.
“We are going to learn,” he corrected, but awarding me with a kiss to the head anyway. “Faire des courses.”
“Easy, shopping,” I said, looking up at him.
“Trop facile? How about: Prenez le temps de vivre?”
Nope, didn’t know that one. “It wasn’t getting too easy. I take it back,” I said with a laugh.
“It’s what we are doing right now. Prenez le temps de vivre,” he repeated.
“About to make out?”
Hudson let out a long, thoughtful sigh as he contemplated my offer. “Ça pourrait être très facilement prévu, but no.”
“Oh my God, I have no clue what you just said.” I pinched his side. I knew prévu, that meant to plan, and I knew très, that meant very. But as for the first phrase I had no clue.
“Tell me what I just said, and we can make out,” he said, shying away from another pinch.
“Impossible,” I said with a pout.
“Which is impossible, you translating what I said, or us making out?”
“Us making out will never be impossible,” I said. Hudson ran his hand through my hair, brushing it away from my forehead and stopping as he cupped my cheek. “Translating, on the other hand…”
“En français.”
“Embrasser pas difficiler,” I said, trying my hardest to come up with something even relatively close, but coming up short. I managed Kissing is not work. But kiss as a noun, not a verb, like I had said in the quiet room when I was denied a kiss.
Hudson burst into laughter, his abdomen shaking as he laughed. “Do you even know what you just said?” He brushed tears from his eyes.
“Yes!” I said, faking offense. I thought I used what little vocabulary I had effectively. “Can I at least get an A for effort?”
“Yes, babe, of course.” He was still laughing when he pressed his lips to my forehead. I pushed up so that his lips would press against mine once, and then twice. He smiled against my kiss, laughing.
“If you don’t stop laughing at me, I’ll make sure I laugh at you next time you’re most vulnerable,” I teased, squeezing his inner thigh for emphasis.
He laughed again, recoiling from my squeeze. “Okay, okay. I surrender.” He pulled me in, his lips on mine again, except he couldn’t stop laughing.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said with another laugh.
“Just go on and get it all out.” I sighed, knowing that this was a losing battle. Once he really got laughing it was all over.
Hudson let go, laughing fully, his belly shaking as he repeated the words I said in French. Laughing harder each time he repeated them.
I waited, crossing my arms as I watched his laughter finally start to fade. “Are you finished?” I asked.
He smiled, nodding.
“Good,” I said, uncrossing my arms and running my finger over a tiny hole in his T-shirt. “How did you manage this?”
He looked down. “Stop playing with it; you’ll make it bigger.” He swatted my hand away playfully.
“But how did it even happen? How do you have all these tiny holes in your T-shirts?” I asked, finding another one closer to the hem.
“My cat, probably,” he said, swatting my hand away again.
I laughed, hard. “Your cat did not do this,” I said, swiping at the tears in my eyes. “There’s no way.”
“Yes, way,” he said.
I touched the first hole again, laughing harder as I poked it.
“I guess I’ll wait for you to be done,” he said, crossing his arms.
I breathed deeply, letting out one more burst of laughter. I wiped my eyes with the inside of my wrist, smudging my mascara. I sighed loudly as I ran a fingertip under each eye, collecting any stray black smears.
“Have I told you today how beautiful you are?”
“More or less,” I said, wiping my finger on his shirt. “Stop stalling. I need to study.”
“Have I told you how much I like being around you?”
“Again, more or less.” I rolled my eyes with a smirk. He gently ran his thumb from my temple to my chin and then down my neck.
“Have I told you that I think I’m falling in love with you?”
My breath caught in my throat. “Uh, nope. You have not mentioned that.”
“Oh, well, Edie, I think you should know that I am falling in love with you.”
I searched his eyes. I knew he’d wanted to say it; I just wasn’t as prepared to hear it as I thought I would be.
“Are you serious?” I breathed.
“I’m seriously serious.”
“Seriously?” I asked again, unable to believe him. Shocked by his sudden sincerity. “How do you—”
“Yes, seriously.”
“But h-how—” I stuttered, unsure of what to say.
“First of all, I just know. You took care of me, and that means a lot.” His thumbs brushed my temples as he sighed. “That means something to me. You mean something to me.”
“And you think that something is love?”
“It could be,” he said, though I knew he was sure.
“Say it in German,” I teased.
“Ich glaube ich liebe dich.”
“Say it in Spanish,” I said, the heat in my cheeks spreading down my neck.
“Puede ser amor.”
“Say it in French,” I whispered.
“Ça pourrait bien être l’amour,” he said as he pressed his lips to mine.