Definitely, Maybe in Love by Ophelia London

either side of my neck. “Henry Edward Knightly, the third .”
    I opened my eyes just so I could roll them and mutter something mocking. But his face was nearer than I expected, his hands gentle on my neck, holding me in place. He stared into my eyes, not blinking. We were so close, almost chest to chest, and for a moment, I forgot I was supposed to breathe.
    Without another word, he bent his flour-covered face to mine, and I stopped breathing altogether.
    When he kissed me, there was an explosion of stars behind my eyes. His body shifted, pressing me hard against the wall, leaving me no choice but to grab on to the curves of his elbows. His hands still held my neck, fingers moving over my skin, his thumbs brushing across my cheeks. I could taste the sugar on his lips, the flour and the sweet tang of cranberries, a delicious combination that made my mouth water. Without realizing it, I parted my lips, needing a deeper taste.
    Before I got the chance, it was over.
    But I couldn’t move away, didn’t want to open my eyes, needing to remain in the moment when I’d caught a glimpse of what Henry might be. Not the arrogant tutor or the mute Greek statue, but the man who made me laugh, pushed my buttons, had a food fight in his spotless kitchen, and managed to blow my mind in ten seconds flat.
    His strong hands were still holding me; I could smell his skin, hear him breathing, still near enough to kiss. My throat ached at the thought, and I felt his heart racing, going faster than mine.
    “ Now we’re even,” he said in a low voice. Then I was released. He stepped back and wiped the back of his wrist across his sauce-covered nose.
    “This…this isn’t over,” I managed to say, choosing to totally ignore what had just happened—if he could do it, so could I. I ran my fingers down my braids, attempting to strip away the pasty goop. Somehow, the bright red cranberry sauce covering the top half of his body had transferred to my hair and all down the front of my shirt. My mind went wonky, imagining how that had happened.
    “I will have my revenge,” I forced myself to add.
    “I’m counting on it.”
    When he pulled back a slow grin, the pit of my stomach flooded with heat and I caught myself staring at his cranberry-stained mouth. I needed to get out of there, now, before I did something I would regret.
    Henry picked up a hand towel off the counter, wound it, and snapped the end in my direction. “Now step out back,” he said, “so I can hose you off.”

Chapter 12
    “What is your answer, dear ? Everyone’s waiting.”
    I shook my head, not at Lilah’s impatience, but at myself. This whole dreadful game had been my idea.
    “And she can’t skip her turn,” Lilah continued. “That’s not fair to the rest of us.” She sat on the floor across the living room from me, her head propped against the side of the recliner Henry was in. She glared at me blatantly. The miserable cow was out for blood. She would probably never forgive me for ruining her cranberries.
    Cranberries …
    My eyes automatically drifted to Henry. He was laughing and saying something to Dart.
    “She can skip one turn if she wants,” Julia said, re-explaining the rules of the game. Dart’s arm was draped across her shoulders as they sat in the middle of the couch, their feet entangled around each other’s on the coffee table. “We each get one pass if we choose to use it,” she further clarified. “Are you passing, Springer?”
    “No,” I said. “I’ll answer. Give me a second.”
    Lilah sighed loudly enough so that everyone looked at her, then rolled her eyes and pulled out her cell. Why didn’t she leave if she was so bored?
    Two hours ago, this “game” of ours started out as a combo Truth or Dare, Twenty Questions, and True Colors. In our turn, each of the five of us asked a question—a probing question, a question meant to confront ethical dilemmas, expose insights of the answerer, or challenge particular values. Some were