by CJ Martín
Despite my gut telling me not to, I ask the question anyway. “Do you like Tod? Do you want to, you know?”
Her answer is immediate, a rush of words that spill forth from her mouth without any thought, in typical Riley fashion. “Yes. I mean, no. God, I don’t know.” She buries her face in the pillow. “I do have hormones, Jesse. I am a teenager. I want to have at least kissed a guy before heading off to college.”
“You’ve never kissed someone?” My nose scrunches as I repeat her words. As her best friend, my duties include listening to her talk about her favorite TV shows, her crushes, her feelings, but I draw the line at sex. Listening to her talk about hooking up with other guys will kill me. “You never said—”
She cuts me off. “Of course, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to know how pathetic I am.”
“You’re not pathetic,” I scold, because I hate when she puts herself down.
“Says the guy who hooks up with anything that walks.”
“That’s not true,” I interject and leave out the most crucial part: I hook up with other girls in an attempt to get over you.
Riley gives me a look that says, “Please.” She’s quiet for a minute then, pulls her bottom lip between her teeth the way she always does when she’s thinking. “What if…?” Her voice fades out but then gains strength again. “What if…we kissed?”
“What?” I whisper hiss. “Are you still high? Are you sure you only had two of those brownies?
“Shut up.” She throws a pillow at me and clips the right side of my jaw. “Forget I asked.”
I stuff the pillow behind my head. My voice is cautious and a whole hell of a lot curious when I ask, “Why do you want to kiss me?”
She shrugs. Not the best response. But then she adds, “I’m comfortable with you.”
I nod my head. “Obviously.”
“I was thinking it wouldn’t be awkward with you. And then maybe when I get my first real kiss, I won’t be so damn nervous.” Her palms twist in the navy sheet, and I follow the movement. Are we really having this conversation?
My racing thoughts are a mix of elation—she wants to kiss me—and sadness because it’s not for real, dude. She wants to use you as a guinea pig. “Ry, I don’t know. Won’t that be a little weird?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “I’m gonna try to not be offended right now.”
I keep my face an expressionless mask to disguise the fact that my brain is re-enacting one of my favorite fantasies despite my adamant order to not even think it for one second: Riley’s full, soft lips on my mouth, on my skin, on my cock, wearing nothing more than my basketball jersey.
“And no,” her voice draws me back to the present moment. “I don’t think it would be weird. Just two friends sharing a friendly, non-romantic, non-sexual kiss. I mean, come on, Jesse, you’re like a brother to me.”
Brother. I absolutely despise when she says shit like that. It makes me feel like my attraction to her is gross and wrong and like I’m a pervert for even thinking of her as anything more than just a friend.
When I still haven’t said anything, she huffs. “But clearly I can see the idea repulses you. I guess I’m not up to your standards. Just forget the whole idea.”
She flips on her side and I catch a glimpse of her matching pink panties from where my t-shirt has ridden up, before she tucks the blanket back around her.
“Ry.” I clear my throat and say louder, “Riley.”
“What?” Her voice is short and clipped, and she makes no effort to turn to face me.
“Ask me tomorrow.” I stand up and circle around to the opposite side of the bed so I can look into her eyes. My eyes burn with so much heat it’s a wonder she doesn’t ignite. “Ask me tomorrow when you’re sober.” Her eyes hold mine and widen as my own pierce hers with the fire and intensity that I usually keep hidden away. “If you still want this in the morning, I’m game.”
She blinks, breaking the connection and shakes her head. “Good night, Jesse.”
“Night, Ry.”
4
Jesse
The knock at the door startles me awake, and I jerk upright. My back aches and my neck is stiff. I blink, looking around the room, my eyes landing on the most magnificent sight: Riley, asleep in my bed.
The covers are tossed onto the floor. Her face is buried in one pillow and her body hugs another. Her long, lean legs are exposed, and my fingers itch to run over them, to feel their smoothness.
“Honey, are you—Oh.” My mom’s voice cuts off abruptly, her hand still on the knob. She lingers, halfway inside my bedroom, her face expressionless, almost as if she can’t decide whether to be pissed that there’s a girl asleep in my bed or mortified for having barged in. But this is Riley, after all, and my mom’s body relaxes once she recognizes the auburn hair.
“Shh.” I walk toward my mom, and her eyes do one final sweep of the room before I close the door behind me. We walk single file down the long hall toward the kitchen, where Mom pours herself a mug of coffee.
I plop myself onto the stool, relieved that she isn’t making conversation, but then she asks, “Riley stayed over last night?”
I keep my voice light. “Yeah.”
Her light blue eyes, a carbon copy of my own, find and hold me in their intense gaze. After a long moment, she voices her concern. “Is this something I should be worried about?”
I roll my shoulders, the movement following all the way down my back, and lean onto the island countertop. “Mom.” I blow out a breath. “She’s stayed over a million—”
“I know.” She cuts me off. “But things are different now. You’re both young adults with…” She hesitates and finally says, “Feelings.”
Fuck. My. Life. I can not, absolutely will not survive a sex talk with my mom at eight o’clock in the morning. “Mom.” I close my eyes, wishing I could disappear. “It’s not like that. Did you not see the sleeping bag?”
At the words sleeping bag, her body relaxes, and a genuine smile tips the corners of her lips. “Sleeping bag, huh?”
I grunt.
“I worry about you two… You know how her father can be.”
I grunt again, because I do know what an ass Mr. Jones can be. The man has a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. I struck out with him a long time ago, and there’s absolutely no point in trying to get back in his good graces.
Strike number one: I’m black, or at least half black, and while Riley’s family would never be so crass as to admit it, this is a small town and I know exactly what they think. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not discriminated against, per se, but the idea of a black man dating a white girl? Never going to fly. Change is slow in the town of Cardinal’s Cay, and stereotypes are tough—if not impossible—to break.
Strike number two: In sixth grade during lunch I got into a fight with Tommy Williams and punched him in the face. Riley was understandably upset; she ran away, crying, and went to tell Mrs. Ruths, our language arts teacher. An hour later our parents were called in, and all three of us sat together in the principal’s office while the adults talked about behavior and consequences.
I got the worst of it, was deemed the “trouble maker” because I was the one who instigated the fight. Riley’s dad gave me the evil eye the entire time. What he doesn’t know is that Tommy Williams had dubbed Riley with the nasty nickname “Rhino Riley” after she was stung several times by yellow jackets outside during our gym class. At the time no one knew that she had a severe bee allergy. She was rushed to the hospital and the doctors administered two shots of epinephrine before releasing her the next day.
The swelling took more than a week to go away, hence the nickname. I hated Tommy Williams for making fun of her. She could have died, and to this day she still has to carry an EpiPen with her at all times. And when he wouldn’t stop running his big fucking mouth, I shut it for him.
I was suspended for three days after that, but it was worth it. What wasn’t worth it was the fact that Riley wasn’t allo
wed to see me for almost an entire month outside of school because I wasn’t a “good influence.”
Strike number three: There might have been this one other time when I was busted for driving without a valid license (I had my learner’s permit, same thing, right?) and Riley’s dad, or should I say, Officer Jones, pulled me over. You’d think the fact that he’d known me his whole life, that I was his daughter’s best friend, that I slept at his house for almost an entire summer the year before third grade, he’d give me a warning. But no, not Officer Hard Nose. He gave me a full citation in which I had to pay a two hundred dollar fine and had my driving privileges revoked for ninety days.
To him, I’d always be the troubled, biracial kid who would never be good enough for his little girl.
My mom’s voice pulls me back to the present. “And you know Riley is welcome in this house anytime. You don’t have to sneak her in—”
“I didn’t sneak her in,” I say, even though I absolutely did. “We got in late, and I didn’t want to wake you. I knew you had an early shift.”
“My son, so thoughtful.” She clicks her tongue. “And where were the two of you out so late?”
“A movie.” The lie is quick. My mom’s chill but not that chill. She’d flip her shit if she knew her precious son was at an underage party. She’d really lose her mind if she discovered Riley was high. I continue on, even though she didn’t ask for more information. “I picked her up after work last night.”
“Isn’t she seeing someone?” My mom asks, voice innocent.
“No,” I say with so much heat that my mom’s eyes widen. “Sorry.” I ease the tension in my voice because I don’t want to get into it right now. Because if I get started I won’t stop until my fist connects with Tod’s face. Over and over again.
“What is his name again?” Her finger taps her chin. “Tim? Tom? Tod?”
My stomach sours upon hearing the name spoken aloud. Tod fucking Daniels. My fingers curl into themselves in a tight fist. Just wait until I see that asshole. He’ll pay for pressuring her into something she isn’t ready for.
“Jesse?” My mom’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.
“Huh?” I shrug, then remember what she asked. “Yeah, that’s him.”
“Just be careful. Things could get messy between the two of you as you both start dating.”
I give my mom a dumbfounded look. “Everyone knows we’ve been best friends forever.”
“Well…” She drains the last of her coffee and places the mug in the sink. “Things change.”
That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.
After my mom leaves for her shift at the hospital, I head back to my room. Riley is still sleeping. I swear she sleeps like the dead. When we were younger, I used to torture her, see how many times I could prank her before she’d wake up. But now I’m grateful she’s a deep sleeper, because it gives me a few unguarded moments to admire her.
Tiptoeing around the bed, I grab a clean pair of boxers and sweats and head to the bathroom for a shower. I let the water run a few minutes longer than normal and try to convince myself that it’s not dirty or pathetic to beat off in the shower while Riley is asleep in the next room.
By the time I make it back into the bedroom, she’s awake. She sits with her back against the headboard as her hands scrub over her face. “Hey.” Her voice is hoarse.
“Hey.” I toss my towel in the hamper. “How do you feel?”
“Like ass.”
I chuckle. “Learn your lesson, Ryan?”
Her eyes narrow in a scowl. She detests when I call her Ryan. It’s my own personal nickname for her. It started when we were ten, and Jimmy McCready said it wasn’t cool to have a girl best friend. Being the bratty boy that I was, I immediately went back to Riley and told her that she was uncool. I quoted Jimmy verbatim when I told her “girls have cooties” and we couldn’t play together anymore.
I was able to stay away from her for all of five minutes before I broke down and sauntered over to her yard with my tail between my legs.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, in her snootiest voice. “Girls have cooties, remember?”
I nodded in agreement. “But I was thinking, maybe if you had a boy name, then we could still play together?”
“That’s dumb, Jesse.”
“No, it isn’t,” I argued, and kicked a stone near the base of the swing set where she sat.
“My name is Riley. Riley. Ann.” She enunciated each word and then stuck her tongue out at me.
“I know your name is Riley Ann,” I said in anger, but then the most brilliant idea hit me. “Ryan!” I shouted. “I can call you Ryan!”
“What?” She pumped her legs with more force, sending her higher into the air. “Why would you call me that?”
“It’s Riley and Ann. Ryan,” I said again, voice rising with genuine excitement. “No one will know you’re a girl.”
“You’re stupid.” She jumped from her swing and landed in the grass.
“Am not.”
“Are, too.” She stood up and dusted the grass from her jeans.
“Ryan,” I teased.
“Jessica,” she shot back, and my smile faded almost immediately.
“What?” She batted her eyelashes. “If I’m Ryan, then you’re Jessica. Jesse, Jessica, it makes sense.”
“No.” I chased after her as she ran away, the entire time taunting me. “Jessica! Jessica! Jessica!”
Every now and then I like to call her Ryan just to piss her off, because she is so damn sexy when she’s angry with me. I smile because today is no different. Plus, I know she never stays angry for long.
She returns my smile. “I should go. My parents think I stayed at Emma’s.” She stands and reaches for her skinny jeans that lie on the floor.
My eyes linger on her legs as she shimmies into her pants, my t-shirt riding up as she pulls the pants higher. Her hands palm the shirt before meeting my eyes. “Can I give this back to you later?”
“Yeah, sure.” I spin away from her and begin fumbling with random shit on my dresser.
“So, about last night…”
I turn around at the sound of her voice, only to realize she’s directly behind me. Inches from my face.
My gaze flits to her lips, and I wonder what it would be like to taste her just once. I give myself only a second to indulge the fantasy before I force a fake smile. I roll my shoulders down my back as I ease away from her. “Forget it.” I shake my head. “I know that was the pot talking.”
Her expression softens, turns nervous as she catches her bottom lip with her teeth. Stop it, Ry. Don’t make me look at your lips. Please have mercy on me.
After a moment she says, “Jesse.”
I clear my throat, then blink my eyes. “Yeah?”
She shakes her head once and takes a step closer. I counter with a step back, but my thighs hit the dresser. I’ve nowhere to go. I’m literally and figuratively at the end of my rope. She holds her eyes to mine, licks her lips once, and then says, “What if I was serious?”
Despite myself, my eyes widen and my dick twitches to life. When I speak, my voice comes out much deeper than expected. “About?”
“The kiss.” She reaches for my hand. “You said to ask you again in the morning. This is me asking. Last time.”
My mind races. The smell of her, the smooth drag of her thumb as she brushes my inner palm, the heat from her body. I turn her hand in my own, interlace our fingers and squeeze. Kissing her, touching her, knowing it means nothing to her will break me. But I won’t say no. I can’t say no. “You sure about this, Ry?”
She nods. “I’m comfortable with you. I trust you.” She hooks her pinkie finger with my own. “You’re my forever heart.”
A smile tips the corner of my lips as I stare at our entwined pinkies.
Don’t do this, man. Don’t do it. Say. No. “Okay.”
She pinches my hip with her other hand. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” I smile as I take in h
er hopeful expression. “I’ll teach you how to kiss…and whatever else you want.”
“Thanks, Jesse.” She plants a chaste kiss on my cheek. “You’re the bestest friend in the entire world.”
Yep. That’s me. The absolute fucking best.
5
Riley
The following Tuesday I get a text from Jesse during seventh period. As discreetly as possible, I slide the phone into my lap and read the message.
Jesse: Meet at the lake at 1:00.
I sneak a quick glance at Mrs. Grover. She’s still at the whiteboard, dry erase marker in hand. And yes, she still’s rambling on about the Pythagorean Theorem. My fingers fly over the keys.
Riley: r u crazy?! I can’t skip.
Jesse: There’s a sub 9th period.
Then a second message comes not even a minute later.
Jesse: We could practice ;)
My heart does this weird flutter thing, but I convince myself that I’m not excited to kiss Jesse. It’s probably just nerves—I’ve never kissed anyone before. Well, unless you count Carson Harthy. Freshmen year we were at Julie Pembrook’s birthday party and we were both “chosen” to go into the closet together. He was all braces and pimples, and I was all nerves and giggles. He barely pressed his lips to mine—seriously, my dad kissed me with more passion than him—and it was the most awkward ten seconds of my life up to that point.
Kissing Jesse was exactly what I needed. There would be no awkwardness between us because we didn’t think of each other in that way. Hell, I had to practically beg him to kiss me. And after the fear of my first kiss passed, I’d be much more eager at the idea of sucking face with someone who was interested in me.
I type a quick, discreet response.
Riley: I’ll see what I can do… No promises.
My footsteps are hurried as I walk down the A-hall toward the front entrance of the building. I’d given my escape plan a lot of thought and finally decided the main exit was my best bet. Students with scheduled early dismissals were required to sign out at the main office before leaving, so there were always people entering and exiting through the main doors. My plan was to slip out with the others, hopefully unnoticed.
