“Or maybe you were just under a bad influence this summer,” I suggest, and his eyes move over my face in a way that makes my heart flip-flop.
“Could be,” he agrees softly. “In any case, after you left, I kept thinking about you. About the summer. About how little I was actually faking anything when it came to you. So.” He lifts his shoulders. “America it is. For a little while at least.”
“You might need a guide,” I say. “Someone to show you the ropes. Make sure you don’t get in over your head.”
With a sigh, Miles leans against the belt. “That’s presumptuous,” he tells me, even as he reaches out to cover one of my hands with his. “Only a real ponce would make an offer like that.”
I lean closer. “I happen to like ponces.”
He leans closer, too, enough so that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth as he replies, “As do I.”
And then we’re kissing at my register at the Sur-N-Sav, no hiding, no sneaking around. Full-on snogging, as he would say, right there in front of everyone.
Okay, so everyone in this case is Isabel and the one old lady in her line, but still. So I lean even closer, awkward with the conveyor belt between us, but hey—
“NO BOYS!”
The cry is muffled but still very loud and accompanied by a frantic knocking sound.
I pull back and look up toward the window of Mrs. Miller’s office. She stands there, one fist propped on her hip, the other rapping the window. “NO BOYS!” she shouts again through the glass, and Miles looks up at her, brow wrinkled.
“Is that the norm here?” he asks as I waggle my fingers at Mrs. Miller.
“In America, no, but at the Sur-N-Sav, yes.”
He looks back at me, green eyes bright. “Then can we leave the Sur-N-Sav, please?”
I glance back up at Mrs. Miller, who’s turning away from the window now, purple smock fluttering, and probably on her way down here to lock me in a chastity belt or set Miles on fire.
Still, I grin and pull Miles back to me, my fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt. “In a minute,” I promise, and then we’re kissing again.
Maybe not in a palace or a bothy or a Rolls-Royce, but there’s no place else I’d rather be.
“Could be,” he agrees softly. “In any case, after you left, I kept thinking about you. About the summer. About how little I was actually faking anything when it came to you. So.” He lifts his shoulders. “America it is. For a little while at least.”
“You might need a guide,” I say. “Someone to show you the ropes. Make sure you don’t get in over your head.”
With a sigh, Miles leans against the belt. “That’s presumptuous,” he tells me, even as he reaches out to cover one of my hands with his. “Only a real ponce would make an offer like that.”
I lean closer. “I happen to like ponces.”
He leans closer, too, enough so that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth as he replies, “As do I.”
And then we’re kissing at my register at the Sur-N-Sav, no hiding, no sneaking around. Full-on snogging, as he would say, right there in front of everyone.
Okay, so everyone in this case is Isabel and the one old lady in her line, but still. So I lean even closer, awkward with the conveyor belt between us, but hey—
“NO BOYS!”
The cry is muffled but still very loud and accompanied by a frantic knocking sound.
I pull back and look up toward the window of Mrs. Miller’s office. She stands there, one fist propped on her hip, the other rapping the window. “NO BOYS!” she shouts again through the glass, and Miles looks up at her, brow wrinkled.
“Is that the norm here?” he asks as I waggle my fingers at Mrs. Miller.
“In America, no, but at the Sur-N-Sav, yes.”
He looks back at me, green eyes bright. “Then can we leave the Sur-N-Sav, please?”
I glance back up at Mrs. Miller, who’s turning away from the window now, purple smock fluttering, and probably on her way down here to lock me in a chastity belt or set Miles on fire.
Still, I grin and pull Miles back to me, my fingers twisted in the collar of his shirt. “In a minute,” I promise, and then we’re kissing again.
Maybe not in a palace or a bothy or a Rolls-Royce, but there’s no place else I’d rather be.
