There’s no response from the couch, and my heart sinks as I wonder just how badly I’ve freaked her out with that. But it’s out there, and what’s more is that it’s true. I want to be with Bri with every fiber of my being, and though I know it’s not in our future, the fact that I feel that way at all just seems so incredibly… significant.
Finally, the silence becomes too loud for me to bear, and I look up to see her staring back at me. She doesn’t look horrified, or repulsed, or even scared.
She looks awed.
“That’s really how you feel about me?” she asks, so quietly I can barely hear, but just loud enough to raise goose bumps all up and down my body.
“I’m not trying to push you into anything by saying that,” I add quickly. “I know why you don’t want to be together, and I get it and respect it, I promise. But I am so, so tired of pretending. I know it’s selfish, but just this once, I need to be honest about how I feel. Even if this is the only time I get to say it. I need you to know how I wish things were and how much I care about you and—” Want you. I can’t say the words, but I hope they’re coming out loud and clear. Judging by the way her cheeks flush and those light-green eyes smolder, I’m thinking they do.
“Thanks for that.” Her voice is still so soft, so quiet, I have no idea what she’s thinking. And then the look in her eyes shifts, like she’s made up her mind about something, and she stands.
I know I’m watching her leave for what’s probably the last time, and there’s a distinct dagger-in-the-heart feeling as I walk her to the door. “I’m sorry,” I can’t help saying for the millionth time as I follow behind.
Her hand reaches for the knob, but she doesn’t turn the handle; she turns the lock. “Don’t be,” she says, taking my hand and twining her fingers with mine. “Please, please don’t be.” And then she wraps her other arm around my neck and kisses me so deeply that everything else on my shoulders — on earth — falls away. And then I’m walking backward toward my bedroom, pulling her as our lips meet over and over, taking care to make sure I’m using only enough force to guide and none to pressure.
We slip onto my bed easily, like it’d been waiting for us, like this had always been the plan.
“Is this okay?” she asks softly, and I’m so drugged from kissing her that it takes me a few seconds to realize she’s talking about her fingers, trailing down my body, gently stroking every curve on their way down.
“Uh huh,” I manage as the tip of her nose brushes my earlobe, her breath warm on my neck. Her mouth covers mine again, and God, when did making out get so dizzying? I swear, I’ve done this a million times, but it’s never felt like this — not with Zander, not with anyone.
Now that she’s drawn my attention to her fingers, I can’t help noticing everywhere they travel — up my shirt, over my bra…every touch is so slow, so gentle, so careful. It feels like she’s afraid I’ll bolt any second, change my mind, and declare that I don’t like girls after all.
I shift on the bed, trapping her hand in my shirt but freeing my mouth to speak. “Bri, I want this. I mean this. You know that, right?”
She bites her lip, smiling sheepishly. It’s adorable. But I want to be the one biting her lip. “I guess it still feels a little surreal. And scary.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re scared? Hi, you’re the one who’s done this before.”
“Yeah, and you haven’t, which is kind of a big deal,” she says softly. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m okay.”
“Okay, then.” She smiles against my lips, and then we’re kissing again, and her hand slides back down my shirt to tug at the hem. We break for her to pull it over my head and toss it on the floor, and I do the same with hers, taking the time to graze her skin, her curves, that tiny little tummy that’s such a turn-on I can barely breathe. All I can think is how soft this all feels, how different, how perfect. So perfect I forget to be nervous when she unhooks my bra and slides it down my arms. So perfect I don’t even have a moment to be self-conscious when she looks at me — really looks at me — and murmurs, “God, you’re beautiful,” before kissing me again. And again. And again.
And then her fingertips are traveling down, down, down.
“Is this okay?” she murmurs.
I open my mouth to say yes, but I’m not sure it is. I think it is. And when her fingers brush the right spot over the fly of my jean skirt, it’s obvious my body thinks it’s plenty okay.
But there’s no going back after that, is there? If we keep going, if we take this further, I feel like that makes it official. Not just me and Bri, but everything. That I like girls. That I’m—
“Guess not,” she says, but she’s smiling as she slides her hand back up to my waist, settling it in the curve there. “See? Only what you’re okay with, Park. Always. I promise.”
When she kisses me this time, it’s gentler, a step back. And I know it’s not what I want. This girl — this fun and crazy and thoughtful girl, this careful girl, this girl who’s making my entire body tingle with nothing but kisses and fingertips on my skin — does things to my head and my heart I didn’t even know were possible. I don’t want to push her back because of a label, because I’m scared. I want the fact that I’ve finally figured out what I want to matter. I’ve spent so much of my life playing someone else, and tonight, with her, I’m just me.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, though I’m trembling, and I know she can feel it. “It is. Please.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I know. I’m a little terrified,” I admit. “But I swear, I want to.”
“Then we will, at some point.” She kisses my collarbone, and it’s nice, but it feels like she’s comforting me or something.
I don’t want to be comforted.
I want to know what I’ve been missing.
And just like that, the shaking stops. “Bri. Please.” My voice sounds ragged, breathy, just short of begging. Embarrassingly desperate. Which is exactly how I feel.
“Jesus, Park.” She’d been bracing herself over me on an elbow, but now she collapses on my side, laughing into the crook of my neck. “I’m trying to be noble here, but you’re killing me.”
“Good.”
She rolls up and places her palms on the mattress, one on either side of my head. Those light-green eyes that used to be so unsettling are blazing as they meet mine. “Really?” she says flatly.
“Really.”
“Really.”
“Real—”
Her mouth crashes down on mine, and I know even before her hand finds my thigh and starts a slow slide up the inside that there is definitely no going back.
I focus on the soft warmth of her mouth, the way her tongue is sweeping mine, while her fingers forge a path of fire up to the lace edge of my boyshorts. Don’t stop, I think as she slides just the tips of her fingers beneath them. Don’t—
My entire body arches off the bed as she brushes against me, and my moan is pathetic against the lips that are still pinning me down. They curve into that smile I know so well, and she nips at my lower lip. Her voice is huskier than I’ve ever heard it when she says, “Huh. Guess you weren’t kidding about wanting to.”
I want to come back with a smartass reply, but the truth is my brain is a fog. For all her teasing, when her eyes flit down my body and then back up, I can see the wonder in them. She may like to tease, but I know this means as much to her as it does to me. So I give up and let my eyes flutter closed again, letting the rhythmic stroking of her fingertips soothe me until I can gather myself.