by CJ Martín
I square myself to face him and repeat the words, even though my face burns with embarrassment. “Will you kiss me?”
When he doesn’t immediately respond, I begin babbling. “You said you’d help me, show me… I still have never…”
He cups my chin with his fingertips, and I stop rambling. “You and Tod still haven’t… I just thought…” I can’t pinpoint the emotion I hear in his voice; maybe it’s a touch of hope, a little bit of wonder, a whole lot of incredulity.
I bite my bottom lip and shake my head.
“Riley.” He drags his fingers down my jaw. “Are you sure about this? I mean, do you want your first kiss to be with me?”
“Yes,” I agree, but then say, “No.”
He pulls back, eyes narrowed and intense. “What does that even mean?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, hating the pleading tone that infiltrates my voice. “I need to do this now, here with you, to know if I’m doing it right. Please.”
He leans into me. “And you’re sure this is what you want?”
“Yes.” The word whispers across his skin.
His eyes draw to my mouth, to where my lips have parted ever so slightly in invitation. One hand loops around my neck to draw me closer. My body trembles as he closes the distance between us, his lips grazing mine. Soft and gentle, like tiny butterfly wings fluttering against my skin. The touch is feather light, barely there, yet every ounce of my being pulses where our lips meet.
My eyes fall closed as he angles his head and increases the pressure.
Tingles begin deep within my belly, tiny bursts of excitement and need and want. When he traces my lips with his tongue, my hands reach for his shirt to pull him closer. Funny how my body responds so naturally; I was so worried about my damn hands, but in this moment I’m not thinking about them at all. All I’m thinking is more.
He nips my bottom lip and growls when I open for him—a deep, needy sound I’ve never heard him make before. And then I’m being pushed back against the pillows and Jesse is nestled between my legs. He tears his lips away, and I whine in protest until his lips find my neck. He’s playful at first, a nibble, a gentle bite, but then he sucks hard and my nails dig into his biceps.
“Riley,” he whispers against my neck. And it feels incredible, so unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, and a large part of me wonders what the fuck I was ever afraid of.
He drags his nose across my jaw, his lips inches from mine, poised for another kiss, when my phone beeps, a loud, shrill sound signaling a new message. We both jump apart. My breath is sped up and my skin is hot to the touch. I brush my fingertips over my swollen lips. “Is it always like that?” I croak, voice hoarse.
He leans back, scrubs a hand through his hair, and I miss the warmth, the shelter of his strong arms holding me in place. “Sometimes.”
The butterflies in my belly swarm. If this is what kissing Jesse is like, I could only imagine what it’ll be like to kiss Tod, because holy shit that kiss was intense.
My phone beeps again alerting me of the unopened message, and I roll off the bed and walk over to where my purse rests near the door. Finding my phone, I silence it without bothering to read the text. When I turn around, Jesse is seated at the foot of the bed, feet planted on the floor with his forearms resting on his thighs and head hanging heavy.
I sit next to him and lean my head on his shoulder. “You okay?”
He simply nods.
“Thanks for…” I clear my throat. “Thanks for helping me. I’m sorry you had to give your lame-ass friend her first kiss.”
He nods again. Why isn’t he talking? Dread hits me full force as the possibility that it was terrible for him washes over me. Maybe he doesn’t know how to tell me I suck. Maybe he feels bad for me because I’m pathetic and he wants to spare my feelings. I thought it was good, but then again, what do I know? Was I that bad?
I twist my palms. “W-was it okay?” I take a deep breath. “Was I okay?”
His head whips to face me, his clear blue eyes focused and intense. “It was perfect.” His gaze slips to my lips before returning to my eyes. “You are perfect.”
Flustered, I dip my head and mumble, “Thanks.” For a second the air remains charged between us, not easy and platonic, but sexual and needy. I’m not sure if it’s from our kiss or the awkward interruption, but I struggle to keep my eyes straight ahead and not on the obvious bulge in his crotch.
Shame washes over me as my thoughts spiral—how would he have felt, so hard and strong and big, touching me there? I blink my eyes, startled by my inappropriateness. This is Jesse. My best friend.
Shaking my head to dismiss my wayward thoughts, and wanting nothing more than to diffuse the weird vibe that is flowing between us, I ask, “So, now I guess I owe you two favors.”
His brow furrows, so I explain. “One for the bet, and one for the…” My voice trails off.
He shakes his head. “Consider your debt paid.”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “Really?”
He nods his agreement. “Really.”
“Thanks,” I whisper, as I stretch my pinkie to the side and wait for him to hook his finger with mine. He pauses, his brows pinched together in thought, but then he interlocks our fingers.
With that simple gesture we’re back to normal. Our kiss, just another dot, another blip in the history of us that will be packed and filed away with all the other memories that bind our lives together.
I couldn’t have known that years later, I’d look back on this day and wonder and ask myself time and time again: How could I have been so blind?
8
Jesse
I can’t stop thinking about our kiss. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to, but make no mistake, I definitely don’t want to. My brain is stuck on those sixty seconds, the lone minute where her lips pressed against mine, just like I’d dreamt about, like I’d imagined hundreds of dozens of times. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened, how far we’d have gone, if her damn phone hadn’t beeped? Because she seemed into it; it felt like she wanted me to kiss her. And touch her. And taste her.
I couldn’t bring myself to admit that maybe she was thinking of Tod, picturing his face, his arms, his dick, instead of mine. Because that would destroy me. I lied when I told her that other kisses could feel that way, because nothing even came close to having her mouth on mine.
I was hard as granite from our first touch—she had to have felt it, seen it—but at that point I didn’t care. Everything focused on her and her alone. The way she whined, as though she was as desperate for me as I was her when I pulled my mouth away. Fuck, she had to be feeling it, too.
“Dude!” Bryan shouts, running over to where I stand mid-court. “What the hell? That’s the fifth pass you missed this quarter.”
“Sorry.” I jog back down the court as the ball is tossed back into play.
“Districts start this Saturday. What gives? You’ve been playing like shit all afternoon.”
“I said sorry, asshole.”
“Does this have something to do with Heather?” He dribbles the ball back, rolling eights just to show off. “I heard what happened at Phillip’s party last weekend.”
Fuck, I silently curse and roll my eyes. Bryan gossips more than most chicks. I don’t have time for this shit right now.
He continues. “It’s okay, man. Happens to the best of us.”
Huffing a breath, I bring my hands up calling a time-out, and I storm off the court. As expected, Bryan follows. I turn to him with narrowed eyes. “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but you don’t know shit.”
He chuckles. “You drank too much and passed out before the party…” He wiggles his eyebrows, “…ever started.”
So that’s how Heather’s spinning it. Okay, because the way I remember it is I flat-out turned her down, not because I didn’t want her—she’s hot and sucks like a motherfucking Hoover—but because it felt wrong to be messing around with Heather when my head is stil
l so fucked up over Riley. Plus, Riley really hates Heather, and it kind of felt like a betrayal on my part.
But then again, why do I even care? As far as I could tell, Tod was all over Riley at Phillip’s party. I should know. I had a front row seat.
Bryan finishes his water bottle before throwing it to the side. “Whatever, dude. Do what you gotta do, but get your head back in the fucking game before Saturday. We need our star center to bring his A-game.”
I grunt as my eyes skim the bleachers, looking for Riley, already knowing she won’t be there. She goes to Tod’s swim practices now. Not that I’m bitter. Much. Maybe Bryan is right. I need to get over this shit with Riley and move on, because she certainly has.
It’s game three of our tournament and we’re down by two. The Mighty Mountaineers are a tough team to beat; their forwards are mad fast and their center has yet to miss a rebound.
But rather than focus on the game like I should, my thoughts are on Riley. And Tod. Whom she’s sitting next to in the bleachers, seventh row. Correction: whom she’s practically on top of.
As though she can sense my stare, her eyes snap to mine. She smiles—a huge smile that lights up her entire face—and mouths “You got this” as she mimes dunking a basket. I return her smile, but it’s tight and far from genuine because fucking Tod has his hands all over her. Christ, he’s practically grabbing her tits. How the hell is no one else bothered by this public display of indecency?
“You’re back in.” Phillip claps my back, startling me from my thoughts. “Watch number seventeen. He throws elbows.”
I grunt my agreement and cast one last look into the stands. Riley isn’t looking at me; in fact, she’s not paying attention to me at all because her lips are pressed against Tod’s. Jealousy, cold and hard, flows through my veins. For a moment I forget I’m in the gymnasium because my body feels like I’m back in my bedroom with her body nestled beneath mine. I can almost hear her soft moans, feel her hands grabbing me, pulling me closer, her writhing beneath me…
“Collins.” Bryan shoves me forward, and the buzzer drowns out his voice as he says, “It’s game time.”
The second half flies by, and despite Tod and Riley’s over-the-top PDA, I manage to score twenty points, tying us up in the fourth quarter. With ten seconds remaining on the clock, our hopes of winning the game dwindle. McClusky, number thirteen on the Mountaineers, dribbles the ball down the court. With lightning speed, Phillip sneaks in for the steal and tears down court. The seconds tick by rapid-fire, and with two seconds left on the clock, he passes to me, even though I’m not in ideal shooting range. Zeroing in on the backboard, I release the ball, hold my breath, and watch as it whooshes through the net right as the buzzer sounds. We win the game with a final score of 81-78.
The crowd’s cheers compete with the trumpets and horns of the pep band playing our school fight song. The cheerleaders take mid-court and perform their usual victory dance to the screams of the fans.
I’ve barely opened my Gatorade before Heather approaches. “Jesse!” She squeals. “That was sick.” Her face is flushed, and she bounces on her heels in excitement. The one thing I will say about cheerleaders is that they experience (or at least seem to experience) the same adrenaline rush as the players after a win. I guess because they’re in it just as much as we are.
“Our boy, Phillip, for the win.” I chug down the rest of my sports drink as Phillip slings an arm around me.
“Nah, bro.” He pulls me in closer for the typical man-hug. “You know what they say, ‘team work makes the dream work.’ ”
I pull away and laugh. “Dude, you’re so lame.”
He chuckles as Bryan joins our circle.
“So what are you doing later?” Heather asks, and although all three of us are standing there, I know she’s speaking directly to me.
My eyes scan the gym and find Riley lingering near the concession stand, talking with her friend, Emma. Tod’s hands are wrapped around her waist from behind, and his head rests on her shoulder.
“Don’t know.” I tear my eyes away as Tod nuzzles Riley’s neck. Seriously, dude. What the fuck? Show a little restraint; you’re not a fucking dog in heat. Then again, maybe he is.
I try my best to ignore the fact that if Riley were mine—really mine—I’d be unable to keep my hands to myself at all.
“My parents are out of town, and I’m having a few people over…” Heather’s voice trails off as she looks at me with wide, round eyes. “You should stop by.”
Phillip is the first to decline. “Can’t. I have a date with Mandy.” The way he says “date,” we know exactly what he means.
Bryan’s next to dismiss her offer. “My dad’s leaving on some business trip for the next two weeks, so I promised my mom I’d be home early.”
Heather nods and looks at me. “Jesse?”
I glance at Riley one last time before turning my gaze back to Heather. “Sure.”
I guess she’s somewhat surprised, because she gasps a little bit, and then a huge smile stretches across her face.
“Cool,” she says, reaching for her phone. “I’ll text you the directions.”
“Sounds good.” I follow Phillip and Bryan into the locker rooms to hit the showers.
Moving on, accepting Heather’s (obvious) invitation to hook up, is a step in the right direction. I need to move on, because the girl I want is wrapped up in another guy’s arms at this very moment. I’m not who Riley wants. I’ll never be more to her than a friend. This is for the best.
And when Heather slips her hand inside my boxer shorts later that night, I’ve almost convinced myself that I was right in coming here. Almost.
9
Riley
Things haven’t been the same with Jesse since our “incident.” Okay, fine. Kiss. He’d swear up and down that he’s not avoiding me, but I know he is. Besides our morning drives to school, we barely see each other. I’ve tried suggesting that we hang out, texted numerous times, but he’s always busy with one excuse or another: basketball practice, basketball games, hanging with Phillip, or spending time with his new girlfriend—Heather “Hoe Bag” Plum. Oh, yeah, did I mention that they’re dating? Please stand aside while I congratulate the happy couple. Not.
The last few months of high school pass with us doing our own thing. I try to convince myself that I’m happy, that I don’t miss him, that I enjoy spending time with Tod as much as I do Jesse, but I’d be lying. And no one likes a liar.
One drizzly Friday morning on our way to school, a week before prom tickets are scheduled to go on sale, I finally work up the courage to ask Jesse about prom. We agreed that we’d go together no matter what, but with me dating Tod and him dating Heather, I knew the plan was bound to change.
“About prom?” I ask, my voice tinged with nerves.
He keeps his eyes on the road, but his grip tightens around the steering wheel. “What about it?”
I glance to him then back out the passenger window. “Are you going with Heather?”
He pins me with his gaze and fires back. “Are you going with Tod?”
I pick at a hangnail on my index finger and say, “He asked me, yeah.”
Jesse shrugs his shoulders and grunts, and I so desperately long for him to say, “You and I are going together. It’s our thing. We promised.” But he says none of that, just shrugs his shoulders again, and I read it as dismissal.
A cool, dark feeling, much like jealousy stirs in my body, slowly at first, just a whisper of breath, but eventually gaining momentum like a rolling rock. How dare he? He was supposed to be my date! Never mind that I had already reneged on my part of the deal.
And later the following week, when Tod and I purchase our tickets during study hall, I see the curly handwriting scrawled next to ticket numbers eighty-one and eighty-two: Heather Plum and Jesse Collins.
If this were a fairytale, now would be the time when I’d tell you that I went to prom with Jesse. That we made up, reconciled our differences, and lived happi
ly ever after. Blah. Blah. Blah.
But this isn’t a fairytale, which explains why I’m sitting at the same table as Jesse and his date, Heather. Yep, that’s right. Even though it doesn’t feel like it these days, we are best friends, so it was more or less expected that we share a table, the reserved party bus, and the rented beach house for the weekend.
My mind wanders to when Jesse had promised me four years ago, at the start of high school, that no matter what, we’d be each other’s prom dates. The pact stemmed from my insecurity and underlying fear that no one—much less a cute boy—would ask me to prom.
Things change, I guess, but when Tod asked me, Jesse’s face was the first image to pop to mind. I agreed, of course, but a sick feeling coiled low in my belly, and I found myself nervous to tell Jesse that I’d accepted Tod’s “promposal.” Ridiculous, I know, because Tod and I had been dating well over five months.
Tod’s sweaty palm on my thigh rouses me back to the present. He squeezes not so gently. “I can’t wait for tonight.” Real subtle, Tod.
“Uh-huh,” I murmur, as I watch Jesse laugh at something that Hoe Bag says that I can’t quite make out. Don’t give me that look. It’s not like I call her Hoe Bag to her face.
I know I should be more focused on, more excited about tonight. About losing my virginity. To Tod. But I’m not.
I’m not excited. Or scared. Or nervous.
I’m…nothing.
In fact, I wish it were Jesse and me. Not having sex—God, no—but just spending the night together, ordering a pizza. Watching Netflix.
Jesse catches my stare, and I swear it’s like he sees right through me. His gaze is intense, and in it I read so many emotions. Sadness. Hurt. Resignation.
Tod grabs my hand and pulls me up. “Come on, babe. Let’s dance.” Translation: Give me an excuse to put my hands inappropriately all over you in a public place. He’s always been handsy, but lately, it’s getting on my nerves more than ever.
