Gun Games by Faye Kellerman Page B

her fingers in his hair, and mashed her lips against his.
    Whoa!
    Sweet!
    Time passed muy rapido . Hot and sweaty and dizzy with arousal, he kept reminding himself that she was innocent and they were in public. But he couldn’t help himself. They kissed and kissed and kissed, and it took all his willpower to keep his hands from slipping under her sweater. Her mouth was soft and warm, her breath smelled like apples, her perfume was something floral, and her sweat was musty. He was practically swooning. He became so enrapt that he almost missed their stop, jumping up from her embrace at the last moment to pull the cord. The bus lurched and they pitched forward. He felt heat coursing through his face and knew he was beet red. This time, he was breathing hard. “We get off here.”
    She nodded and picked up her purse, and they stepped off the bus, avoiding the disapproving looks of some of the older ladies. As soon as the bus pulled away, he threw his arms around her body, lifting her way off the ground until she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her for a block or so, the two of them kissing as he walked. Over and over and over until he felt like he was going to explode. He put her back onto her feet. “Oh God,” he told her. “I need to calm down.”
    She giggled. He held her hand and they strolled in silence.
    “Are you okay?” she asked a minute later.
    “No,” he said. “I’m a little light-headed.”
    “Want a cookie?”
    He grabbed her by the waist and spun her around. “I want you.” He put her down, took her face in his hands, and planted a wet kiss on her mouth. He looked at his watch and his eyes went wide. “God, we’ve got about ten minutes to get across campus.” He took her hand and they started speed-walking.
    “Did you buy a ticket for me?”
    “Of course I bought a ticket for you. I was hoping you would come.” Pulling her along. “It would have helped if you had told me that you might come.”
    “I didn’t know until the last minute.”
    “Well, you could have at least texted me a maybe. I didn’t hear a peep from you.”
    “Well, that’s because I didn’t hear a peep from you.”
    “What are you talking about?” Gabe said. “I asked you to be my friend on Facebook.”
    “And I accepted.”
    “But you didn’t write back.”
    “The boy writes first.”
    Gabe rolled his eyes. “Since when is that the rule?”
    “I dunno. But it is the rule.”
    “You know I came to Coffee Bean looking for you.”
    “You did not.”
    “I did so.” Gabe was offended. “I came on Tuesday and Thursday.”
    Yasmine said, “I came on Monday and Wednesday.”
    “Ooh, psych!” He took her hand and started running. “If you would have texted me, I would have met you. I mean I can’t exactly call you.”
    “Why on earth would I assume that you’d want to meet me?”
    “Why wouldn’t you assume it? I asked you to the concert.”
    “I thought you were just being nice. You said it wasn’t a date.”
    He stopped and grinned. “I lied.”
    They arrived just as the lights were dimming . . . again. The first half of the concert was fine, but he was constantly aware of Yasmine’s presence, her hand in his, setting off motion below his waist. It wasn’t until Paul took the stage that Gabe was finally able to relax and lose himself in the music. When the concert was finally over and the lights came up, Gabe was calmer.
    “He did a good job.”
    “You approve?”
    “I do.” He turned to her. “What’d you think?”
    “I really enjoyed the piece. I think I like Saint-Saëns. He composes with a common theme or voice or whatever you call it. He’s not all over the place like some composers.”
    “Good call.” Gabe eyed her face and was dying to kiss her, but he didn’t want to get aroused. It would be a big faux pas to greet Paul with a woody. “I gotta go show my face. Do you mind?”
    “Not at all.”
    He led her backstage where Paul was talking to a few of his