Less than five minutes later, he grabs a pillow.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “Now, you’re the fidgety one.”
“Yeah, totally fine.” He doesn’t look at me.
I’m very much reminded of the rejection. The hurt. I scoot even closer. He completely stills, his jaw clenches.
I’ve always noticed his jaw.
I’ve always noticed him.
I think that’s where the hate started, with knowing that he’s never really noticed me in the same way, and I refuse to count the stapling.
He inhales and exhales, slowly, like he’s afraid to breathe
Do I smell?
I tuck my feet under my body and cross my arms.
He lets out a little groan.
“Seriously.” I give him a shove. “What’s with you?”
“You really, really, really…” He turns to his left, then looks back at the TV immediately. “…really need to grab a blanket. A sweater. A parka. Put the damn down puffy jacket back on. Or I heard muumuus are in again.”
I frown. “But I’m not cold; you’re being weird.”
“No, you’re hot,” he says almost to himself. “So hot, I’m hot too, a different kind of hot.”
“Then take off the blanket.” I reach for it.
“No!” He grabs my hands while I’m trying to pull the blanket off his lap, and then I’m suddenly falling forward right on top of him, only a blanket and his thin black T-shirt blocking our skin from touching.
He’s hot.
His eyes flicker to my lips. “Question.”
“What now?”
“If I kiss you, will you slap me?”
I grin. “This sounds like a fun game.”
“Be serious.”
“I am.” I lean in. “Care to test it out?”
“How hard do you slap?”
“How good do you kiss?”
He smirks. “Ah, a challenge?”
“I like to win.”
“Maybe we both win…”
I lean closer, our faces barely a foot apart at this point. “So, kissing you is the equivalent to winning?”
He swallows slowly, tucking my hair behind my ears. “Even if it was like losing to me, I’d probably still do it.”
“Brutal honesty, Mr. Self-control.”
His eyes soften, and determination follows as he grips me by the back of the neck and pulls me in for a kiss. It’s perfect timing. I’m shocked, so my lips part. He devours my moan; his tongue massages mine gently. I squeak as his hands find my ass and grip it.
I need to feel him.
Now.
I try to pull the blanket out from between us. His hands help my frantic movements, he lifts me momentarily, and then the blanket’s on the floor, and I’m nearly naked on top of him, my silk shorts basically hide nothing, and my nipples harden against his chest.
He curses against my mouth and deepens the kiss.
I pull back and lift my hand.
His eyes widen as if to say are you serious?
“Kidding.” I wink. “I just wanted to scare you.”
“Yes, because slapping won’t kill the moment.” He grips my wrists. I writhe against him because now I really do wanna give him a light smack.
That might be fun.
I keep squirming.
He bites down on his lower lip. “I’m embarrassed to admit this, but if you don’t stop moving around on top of me, I’m going to do something I haven’t done since middle school.”
“Have sex?” I ask. “You little whore.”
He glares. “Very funny.”
I burst out laughing, stop moving, and lean down to kiss him again; he flips me onto my back.
I have no idea what I’m doing. In the morning, I’m going to regret doing this with my partner, but I can’t stop.
And I can feel he doesn’t want to either.
Maybe it’s just adrenaline from earlier today.
We’re young.
We’re enemies.
But we still have needs. Right?
I moan, and he abruptly pulls back and stands. There’s no mistaking the way he feels, and he doesn’t even try to hide his arousal as he stretches his arms above his head. “Wow, it’s getting late; I should, you know… go.”
I’m half on the couch, half on the floor staring up at him, completely ready to keep making out; my heart’s pounding, and he’s just talking about how late it is?
“Wow.” I stand. “Guess some things never change.”
He doesn’t meet my eyes. “Yeah, guess so.”
“Once a player, always a player?” I snort. “Glad I was convenient for your insomnia.”
“Yeah,” he snaps. “I feel so much fucking better now; thanks for the make-out session; it was one hundred percent what I needed, even better than counting sheep or meditating, put me right out.”
He actually yawns.
I stomp toward him.
He stumbles back and walks to the door.
I’m going to murder him.
He opens it and then hesitates while I’m looking for a sharp object to throw at him. Is this just his thing? Kiss me? Make me want him? Then leave? At least this time he’s not going to find some random girl in the hallway.
I follow him just in case… without a sharp weapon, though I’m ready to scratch anyone’s eyes out, don’t ask me why.
I feel violent.
Hurt.
Embarrassed.
Was the kiss bad?
Was it because I kissed him back?