Drew holds up a hand. “I know. I know. And it’s not like you have to explain anything or defend yourself to me. I’m not even the type of guy who gets into fights—unless it’s in a movie—but in that second, I could’ve punched him in the face.”
I laugh. “You would’ve destroyed him. I mean, look at you.”
And then I do look at him. He’s wearing this gray, long-sleeved thermal that clings to his chest in a way that is, frankly, obscene, and I’m struck by the desire to reach out and rub my hands across his torso. I shake my head quickly.
Drew leans down. He’s much closer to me than he should be. “I shouldn’t have worried. Brody knows about us.”
My mouth drops open. “Knows what about us?”
“That we’re friends,” Drew says, his voice low in an almost Bill-Pullman-in-While-You-Were-Sleeping growl. “Very, very good friends.”
Someone walks past us, headed to the men’s room, and Drew scoots even closer to me to let the man pass. I force myself to keep my eyes on his, to not let my gaze stray down to his lips or his chest or his anything else.
“I’m glad you didn’t come here with Brody,” Drew says, never taking his eyes off mine. I can hear all the sounds from the bar, the laughs and shouts and clinks. I swallow, hard.
The dude who went into the bathroom comes out and brushes past us, and Drew takes the opportunity to get even closer to me, so that our bodies are now fully touching.
“I’m fairly certain that guy didn’t even wash his hands,” I whisper, which isn’t the sexiest thing to whisper in this circumstance, but I’m not trying to be sexy here. Am I?
I gasp when he reaches out to touch my hand, and it’s easier for me to watch our hands than it is to look into his eyes. He circles his fingers on my palm, and even though we’re in a public place and I’m wearing the world’s largest, grayest sweater, it feels so outrageously sexual that I know I’m blushing.
“I know you said you wanted to be friends,” Drew says in a low murmur as I watch his fingers move. “And I respect that. But would it be okay if I—”
His face is so close to mine that it’s no effort at all for me to close the gap between our mouths and press my lips onto his. Both of his hands press into my back, pulling me toward him with urgency. His tongue is in my mouth and, God, we’re in a hallway directly beside bathrooms, but I don’t even care. I’m kissing Drew Danforth. I’m kissing Drew Danforth and he’s beautiful and he’s everything and he’s gone in two days and—
“Oh, God.” I pull away from him and shake my head. “I can’t believe I did that.”
“Let’s keep up this streak of unbelievable activity,” Drew says, his eyes on my mouth as he leans in again. I kiss him back and then break away again.
“We are in public!” I whisper-hiss. “By bar restrooms.”
“Well, you have fully scandalized me,” Drew says with the hint of a smile on his face. “I was a good Southern boy before you, Ohio temptress, kissed me in this most sordid of places.”
“Drew!” I slap his arm. “I . . . I . . .”
There are a million things I want to say. That I don’t normally kiss guys in bars. That I’m not looking for a one-night (or two-night, or three-night) stand. That there aren’t a lot of rom-coms about people who live hours away from each other, and even in Sleepless in Seattle we don’t get to see how they work out the logistics of being together. That I don’t even know if he wants to be together, or if I even want to. That kissing him made me almost forget about everything else I wanted to say.
“I should go home,” I say finally. “Before I embarrass myself any further.”
“I don’t consider this embarrassing,” Drew says. “That time you threw coffee on me? A little embarrassing. This? Not so much.”
I look up at him, since he’s a half foot taller than me and he’s leaning over my face, and shake my head. “What are you even doing?”
“Wow, if that’s not obvious, then I’m striking out pretty hard. Maybe this is embarrassing. I’m kissing a pretty girl.”
“Is that a line from a movie?”
“Maybe your problem is that you spent so much time thinking about your past that you didn’t spend any time thinking about your future,” Drew says with sudden passion, then relaxes into a smile. “That’s a line from our movie.”
I give him another small smile. Oh, I like this guy. He’s funny and he’s sweet and he’s a good kisser with a body that makes me want to rub my hands all over it the same way I compulsively need to touch those sequined mermaid pillows when I see them at Target. Why does he have to be a famous actor who’s only in town for a short period of time?
“I’m gonna go,” I say, pushing myself off the wall. I don’t look back at him as I walk toward the bar, because I know if I do I’ll never leave. I’ll just make a new home there by the bathrooms, kissing Drew Danforth and pausing only to eat the occasional buffalo wing.
I find Tommy and say goodbye. He gives me a hug and a pointed, paternal look, reminding me of our conversation from earlier. “You’re a good assistant, Annie. Unlike certain assistants I could name, who left me for underwear models.”
“He says that to all the girls,” says a voice from behind me, and I turn to see Brody.
He gives me a quick hug, says it was nice to work with me, and then says, “Listen, be gentle with Drew, okay?”
I cackle-laugh at that, but he continues giving me a serious look. “Wait, you’re not kidding?”
Brody shrugs and turns to talk to someone else.
I’m grabbing my coat from coat check when Drew appears. “I’m gonna walk you home,” he says, getting his coat as well.
A full-body tingle washes over me. This is a bad idea, or maybe it’s a good one, but all of a sudden I don’t care because I want it to happen. Drew Danforth is walking me home. A beautiful, funny, smart man who kissed me in public is walking me home and maybe this isn’t a romantic comedy and maybe it’s going to end with me being a lot more upset but right now, I just don’t care.
Chapter Seventeen
Drew opens the door for me, and an honest-to-God blizzard greets us. “Holy moly,” I say.
“Holy moly,” Drew repeats with a smile. “You’re so Midwestern.”
“Don’t make fun of me,” I say as I start walking toward home.
“I’m not making fun of you.” Drew bumps his shoulder against mine. “It’s cute.”
I think about heading back toward Nick’s with Drew to blow Chloe’s mind, but she’d be able to tell we kissed just by looking at me (and she’d ask me too many questions about his penis that I don’t know how to answer). I’ll tell her tomorrow, but for now, I want to keep this one thing to myself, something private between me and Drew. One little moment that’s a bit like magic.
But this, right now, is a little magical, too. We walk down the sidewalk, the bricks covered in fresh snow, the kind that’s so fluffy it makes a satisfying crunch under our shoes. The snow tumbles down underneath the streetlights, getting caught in my eyelashes and my hair. As we turn to walk through the park, it all seems so cinematic. This is the scene in my rom-com when the characters realize they love each other.