“Nice color choice.” I crossed my arms.
She grinned up at me. “Real men wear pink.”
“Real men shouldn’t,” I smirked.
She just laughed and dropped the piece of chalk back onto the ground then rubbed her hands together. “So, what’s the plan?”
“It’s eight-thirty,” I whispered then took a step toward her.
She’d changed into a pair of black leggings, Nikes, and a black hoodie. She looked athletic, cute, still beautiful. I inhaled her scent and then took another step closer, until we were toe to toe. “What happened every night at eight-thirty?”
Maddy’s eyes seemed to drink me in. I wanted to dive my hands into her strawberry-blond curls and pull them close to see if they still smelled like coconut lime verbena.
“A kiss goodnight.” She finally got the more than two words out, her eyes filling with unshed tears as she looked between the chalk line and my lips.
I had no idea what the hell we were doing now, where the line began, where it ended. I didn’t know if she would walk away after this, or if we really would get closure, and lay our demons to rest.
But I needed it — I needed her.
We were both sober.
She could say no.
I could yell and tell her I hated her for breaking my heart.
The world could also end, and Max could be voted president.
But in that moment, nothing mattered but her kiss, her mouth on mine. The moment her lips pressed against my lips, I prayed for time to stop so I could hold on to the second that things felt right again.
My heart soared in my chest.
This wasn’t giving me closure.
This was making me want something dangerous.
It was making me want Maddy.