“Really?”
“Yeah. And, just for the record, I don’t mind doing it with a guy.It, like, kissing, I mean. You know.” Right at the tip of my tongue are the wordsI’ve kissed a guy before, and it was great, and I barely hold them back. Whether it’s the double shot of tequila or that Maker’s Mark or wanting to take away any doubt this boy might have about me that makes me think for a second it would be important information to share, it doesn’t matter because I force the words down. He’s not asking for me to speak on it any more than I already have. I think I can confidently say that he gets that I’m fine now. And it’s not as if I’m auditioning for the chance to make out with him. I don’t have to prove my comfort or my personal kissing history to reassure him that he pickedtheDay One Ally who doesn’t mind having a little fun and getting him out of downing some Jager.
“Yeah,” he says through another laugh. “I got it.”
Also, I’m comfortable enough to admit that, in an observational way, he’s not ugly. Boy’s cute. If I liked guys, he would definitely be my type. Dark brown hair with messy dark brown bangs that fall to his dark brown eyebrows above dark brown eyes. A little skinnier than me and the top of his head barely reaches my nose, but I’m an inch, inch and a half, from six feet which—at least, looking at my own family and friends—is pretty tall for a Mexican. He’s wearing a loose-fitting button-down with the top half open, showing some smooth chest, and khaki shorts that stop mid-thigh.
He hops onto the patio railing to give himself some extra height, and the smile he gives me as he settles himself—holding on to one of my arms to keep steady, which becomes shamelessly feeling my muscles after I (also shamelessly) flex a little for him, just for shits and giggles—is nice.
“You’ve got a really pretty smile,” I tell him, partly because this whole situation has got me in a silly, goofy, flirty mood, and there’s no shame in being flirty for fun when we’re literally at a party, but also because I’m thinking,Say something nice; throw out a compliment. Even if it’s for a game, and even if I’m not looking to do anything more with this boy than make out for a handful of seconds, I usually like to ease my way into kissing someone. Build some tension and excitement so it doesn’t all feel so transactional and boring. And, honestly, I like when I can see that a girl wants it.
It, like, a kiss. Obviously.
And, again, yes, this is solely for a game and getting him out of taking a shot of one of the trashiest alcohols humanity has ever invented. That doesn’t mean I can’t also appreciate seeing how I’m getting all those signs from him telling me that he’s there.He wants it.
He looks away for a second, like I caught him off guard with that compliment, but he smiles back at me as his hands slide up to my shoulders and lock behind my neck, giving him more stability. And his eyes take mine in for what was maybe only a blink, or whole minutes, before he admits, “I was about to say that I hope it wouldn’t be weird if I told you that you are very hot.”
This time I laugh, telling him, “Nah, I’ll take it. Thanks,” before trying to figure out where to put my own hands, ultimately letting them fall to his legs, feeling the skin of his thighs, soft but lean with some muscle. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s played football before or maybe run track. “I might be straight, but I willalwaystake a compliment about how hot I am.”
He shakes his head, followed by more laughing. More smiling. More staring at that smile and those lips and catching myself forgetting where I am. He makes a quick adjustment of his hands to get comfortable. His thumbs softly graze my skin, sending tingles down my spine.
“Ready?” he asks, and, again, I realize it looks like I’ve been staring. I realize (again) that I have been staring.
“I—yeah. Let’s do it.”
My heart starts going wild the moment his lips hit mine. Like it might just bazooka itself out of my throat and into his mouth. I had started the kiss keeping track of the seconds, but at around three or four, my brain goes into overdrive thinking, “Oh wow, I’m actually doing this again.” I start wondering if I’m sweaty and what he’s thinking about my technique and I think about how I don’t want this to suck for him after he called me hot. But then I feel more of his fingers rubbing the skin of the back of my neck and this mix of confidence and then need follows, wrapping around me and tamping down my bounce house of thoughts.
Truthfully, he’s a great kisser. Just as good as Leana. Maybe better than Leana if I’m beingreallyhonest. This heat in my chest builds when his legs open and I let myself get closer to him, leaving behind any overthinking I started with. I feel the warmth of his breath and the wetness of his lips and his tongue that glides along my bottom lip and, yep, better. And when his fingernails start gently scratching, I’ve got to literally squeeze his leg otherwise I’d pass out and fall from the blood rushing out of my head and straight down.
Then his tongue goes into my mouth, looking for my own, circling it and, shit, I’m getting lightheaded. A part of my body is deciding that, hey, this combo right here, it doesn’t matter what gender the person I’m kissing is, that does not take away from the fact that this feels perfect. He lets out a soft moan before he starts sucking on my tongue and, almost instinctively, I let out a low groan and grind on him as a reaction, and he’s got to feel the way my body’s loving this. My hands leave his thighs and hurry to the small of his back (for stability purposes) and then my palms and fingers are holding on to ass. His ass.
Damn. It’s a nice ass. I mean, just from what I can feel.
And then it’s over.
He pulls away, lips red, and there’s a little bit of drool at the corner of his mouth. And he’s smiling. That really pretty smile. And, for some reason, my first thought—one that comes and goes in a blink as my whole environment goes unblurry and the sound of music and people becomes clearer—is that I want to kiss that smile again. So badly. That I wasn’t done and would like to keep going.
“You’re a good kisser,” he says. “Ten out of ten.”
Ego: sky high right now. In space. Another galaxy. Can’t tell me nothing.
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t have to take that shot.”
He lets out a breath through his nose while shaking his head, his smile even bigger now. “Yeah, I think we got me out of that one. I’ll make sure to come find you if I need to get out of another shot.”
“For sure. I—”
“Vale!” someone from his table yells. “Come on, it’s still your turn. Flirt later.”
He rolls his eyes, and I can barely make out his cheeks getting a little burgundy, but my first thought isVale. Actually, my first thought isPlease don’t move while my dick’s still trying to break through my shortsand that, if he’s aware of this situation, we can just not say anything about it. My mind was already on Leana, I wasn’t prepared for how good of a kisser he is and that tongue thing; I could’ve kissed anyone, literally Pérez, even, and this probably would’ve happened. Everyone at this party is just as horny.
But, after that, I’m wondering, “Is that short for Valentín? Valentino? Valerio?”
“That one. Valerio.”
“Cool. I’m Gabriel,” I add. “Or you can call me Gabi or Gabo if you want. And yeah, I might be around, but I was also thinking about heading—”
“Piña!”Pérez shouts, holding on to Kat, their black, slicked-back fuckboy haircut perfect even if I can tell they’ve been drinking for a while now just by the quick glance I get at their face. “Let’s play beer pong! Find someone.”
