“Delicious?”
“I guess we’ll see.” My gaze shifts toward the kitchen. Most of it is behind a wall. I can only see the open doorframe—there’s no door, just a frame. The clean white fridge.
I can’t see Oliver.
He can’t see me.
Can’t hear me over the music. The Bluetooth speaker is playing Lorde’s latest album. My favorite. And Luna’s favorite. She’s the one who introduced me.
God, I love this song. Maybe if I focus all my attention on the chorus, I can ask this without dying of embarrassment.
I lean a little closer. So I can whisper. “Do people actually do that?”
“Do what?”
“Use condoms for—” I nod in the general direction of his thighs.
“For oral?”
“Yeah.” My cheeks flame. “Luna told me… well, she says that it’s safer to use a condom. But most people don’t. Guys aren’t into it. They’d rather just… not.”
Holden chuckles. “Don’t know about that.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t know if many guys would turn down a blow job, condom or no condom.”
“Oh.” I try to focus on Lorde’s vocals, but all I can hear is Holden’s steady breath.
“But women have told me they don’t like using them. They don’t like the taste of latex. Even if it’s chocolate flavored.”
“Right.” I nod like I know this.
“What did your dad say?”
I shake my head. “It was too horrifying to remember.”
“I know what you mean. When I was thirteen, my dad sat me down, gave me the talk.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Forest had been lecturing me for years. Before I had any interest in sex. When I still thought girls had cooties.”
“I guess they do. It’s just they’re actually STDs,” I say.
He laughs. “Yeah, he used that one.”
“Do you worry about it?”
“No. I’m religious about using condoms now. And I get tested regularly.”
“Have you ever—”
“Yeah. When I was younger. And more casual about using protection.” His eyes meet mine. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I’m not.”
“It is awkward. It’s weird, asking a stranger about their STD status. Or telling someone to slow down, because there’s no fucking way you’re doing this without a condom.”
“But you… do oral without a condom?” Oh my God, I’m going to die of embarrassment.
“Only if I’m in a more monogamous thing.”
“You do monogamous things?” That’s hard to believe. Encouraging. And horrible. It’s awful, imagining Holden with a stranger. Imagining her hands on his skin and her name on his lips.
But him keeping someone around? Needing her? Loving her?
My stomach twists.
I force my gaze to the kitchen. It’s still quiet. I guess Oliver is still fixing cocktails.
He has this idea that I’ll taste all the classics. Or at least all the ones he can make here. So I know what I like.
It’s not a bad idea.
Not that different than what Holden is—
Well, he’s not offering it. But maybe if I ask…
God, there’s no way I can ask. Even if I wouldn’t die of embarrassment—and I would—he’s right. It would ruin his friendship with Oliver. And I’m not doing that to either of them.
“Fuck buddies,” he says. “If I’m with a girl who gets that I’m not going to fall for her.”
“How can you be sure?”
“That she gets it?”
“That you won’t fall for her?” I press my lips together. I don’t know why I’m asking. I can’t go for him. It doesn’t matter if he’ll fall for me.
But maybe… maybe I can have a taste.
A birthday kiss.
That isn’t so bad.
My brother doesn’t have to know.
“I just do,” he says.
“But how?”
“Some things you just know. Like how you love to read. Or how Luna loves red lipstick.”
“She does.” I laugh.
“Hey!” Oliver’s voice booms. “You ready for this?”
No, but I guess I can’t say I’d rather keep flirting with Holden. Am I even flirting with Holden? Or is this more of a conversation.
“We’ll be there in a sec,” Holden calls.
Oliver makes that mm-hmm noise.
Holden stands. Offers me his hand. “Your lipstick is going to wear off.”
“Huh?”
“On the cocktail glass.”
“Right.” I take his hand.
“Did Luna do your makeup?”
I nod yeah. Take his hand. Let him pull me up. “Is it too much?”
“No. You look beautiful. Grown-up.”
“Yeah?”
He nods yeah.
I know he isn’t saying you look old enough to be in my bed. But I let the thought linger anyway.
Chapter Seventeen
Daisy
The white counter top is covered in booze.
Rows of liquor in the back. Liqueurs and mixers in the middle. A bowl of citrus, a jar of maraschino cherries, a peeler, three bottles of bitters, five pounds of ice.
And, sitting in the front, a dozen cocktails. Some light, almost clear. Some fizzy. Some a deep amber. And one artificially green concoction.
“Where do you want to start?” Oliver slides his arm around my shoulder. Adopts his usual paternal stance. I’ve got this. Don’t argue.
And, well, I can’t. My brother is very good at a few things. Tattoos. Avoiding honest conversations with our father. And drinking.
“Fuck.” Holden shoots my brother a really look. “Are you trying to give her alcohol poisoning?”