With how warm the club has been all night, Rosie forgot about the winter chill outside, right up until Mark pushes the alleyway door open the rest of the way. "We should've stopped at the coat check," she laughs, shivering a little--with nerves, or chill, or both together--even as she steps outside anyway.
"We'll just have to stay close, I guess," he says, moving not to take out a pack of cigarettes or a lighter or anything, just putting his arm around her, pulling her into the sort of kiss that makes her head spin. Even if it's a bit of a surprise to have her suspicions confirmed so quickly, it's nicer this way, maybe; better than if they'd kissed after he'd had his cigarette. If indeed he smoked at all.
Eventually, she ends up pushed against the wall, the sudden cold of the brick through her dress making her gasp and arch forward. From the outside, maybe it looks like a request for more, or an invitation; Mark certainly takes it as such, his hands roaming down her back, his tongue darting into her mouth. Rosie knows, in a distant kind of way, that she should be sensible, should listen to the bit of her that overthinks things and reminds her how awful it is to want this so badly, before this goes much further. It's just so much, dizzying and overwhelming and wonderful all at once.
"I've got an apartment near campus," Mark says after a while, kissing his way down her neck. "We could get out of here."
"Um," Rosie says, but it's a stall, an attempt to gather her thoughts from wherever they'd fled. She wants to say yes, so much so that it shocks her. She just doesn't think she can. "Mark...stop, just a moment?" To his credit, he listens, pulling back to hold her hands as he senses the hesitancy in her words and the sudden tension in the way she's standing. "I'm sorry, I just don't know that I want to go beyond kissing tonight," she continues. To say tonight might be a tease--maybe all of it is anyway, everything they've done already--but it feels more like a way to apologize, or soften any disappointment in the way their evening has shifted once again.
He looks at her; and yes, there's disappointment there, even an edge of frustration, but both are momentary only. "You're not old enough to be here, are you?" he asks, quietly, reaching over to adjust the strap of her dress from where it had slipped off her shoulder.
"No," she says, because there's no reason to lie any more, not when he's guessed it already. She might have elaborated, said I'm sixteen or I'm still in high school, if the alley door hadn't then flown open, if a familiar figure hadn't stepped through it looking more than slightly fretful. All at once, Rosie realizes the sort of picture she and Mark must make, their hair mussed and clothes disheveled; her lipstick smudged and a pale echo of such on Mark's face as well.
She doesn't say anything at first, just blushes, sudden and hot.
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"We'll just have to stay close, I guess," he says, moving not to take out a pack of cigarettes or a lighter or anything, just putting his arm around her, pulling her into the sort of kiss that makes her head spin. Even if it's a bit of a surprise to have her suspicions confirmed so quickly, it's nicer this way, maybe; better than if they'd kissed after he'd had his cigarette. If indeed he smoked at all.
Eventually, she ends up pushed against the wall, the sudden cold of the brick through her dress making her gasp and arch forward. From the outside, maybe it looks like a request for more, or an invitation; Mark certainly takes it as such, his hands roaming down her back, his tongue darting into her mouth. Rosie knows, in a distant kind of way, that she should be sensible, should listen to the bit of her that overthinks things and reminds her how awful it is to want this so badly, before this goes much further. It's just so much, dizzying and overwhelming and wonderful all at once.
"I've got an apartment near campus," Mark says after a while, kissing his way down her neck. "We could get out of here."
"Um," Rosie says, but it's a stall, an attempt to gather her thoughts from wherever they'd fled. She wants to say yes, so much so that it shocks her. She just doesn't think she can. "Mark...stop, just a moment?" To his credit, he listens, pulling back to hold her hands as he senses the hesitancy in her words and the sudden tension in the way she's standing. "I'm sorry, I just don't know that I want to go beyond kissing tonight," she continues. To say tonight might be a tease--maybe all of it is anyway, everything they've done already--but it feels more like a way to apologize, or soften any disappointment in the way their evening has shifted once again.
He looks at her; and yes, there's disappointment there, even an edge of frustration, but both are momentary only. "You're not old enough to be here, are you?" he asks, quietly, reaching over to adjust the strap of her dress from where it had slipped off her shoulder.
"No," she says, because there's no reason to lie any more, not when he's guessed it already. She might have elaborated, said I'm sixteen or I'm still in high school, if the alley door hadn't then flown open, if a familiar figure hadn't stepped through it looking more than slightly fretful. All at once, Rosie realizes the sort of picture she and Mark must make, their hair mussed and clothes disheveled; her lipstick smudged and a pale echo of such on Mark's face as well.
She doesn't say anything at first, just blushes, sudden and hot.