For Steve, the kiss comes completely out of left field. Her mouth presses to his and he drops the putter and the scorecard so he can wrap his other arm around Maeve’s waist and kiss her back. He’s been trying not to think about this exact thing pretty much all day, but as soon as it’s offered up, his brain seems to go offline.
It’s a good kiss, her lips soft against his as she cradles his face in her warm hands. Steve has almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed like this, with feeling behind it.
He likes Maeve, he really does, even if she’s only seventeen—
And there it is, his brain rebooting. God, he hates his brain.
He pulls back from the kiss as gently as he can manage, and carefully sets her back on the ground. Her mouth looks a little bruised and Steve stares at it for a moment before shaking himself and meeting her eyes instead.
“I— uh.” He swallows hard and realizes he’s still gripping her hip, so he lets go of her. “You’re seventeen.”
He wants to kiss her again. He wishes it didn’t make him feel like such a creep.
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It’s a good kiss, her lips soft against his as she cradles his face in her warm hands. Steve has almost forgotten what it felt like to be kissed like this, with feeling behind it.
He likes Maeve, he really does, even if she’s only seventeen—
And there it is, his brain rebooting. God, he hates his brain.
He pulls back from the kiss as gently as he can manage, and carefully sets her back on the ground. Her mouth looks a little bruised and Steve stares at it for a moment before shaking himself and meeting her eyes instead.
“I— uh.” He swallows hard and realizes he’s still gripping her hip, so he lets go of her. “You’re seventeen.”
He wants to kiss her again. He wishes it didn’t make him feel like such a creep.