Chapter 14 #2
And it must be the realisation that we do not have to date anymore that makes this kiss much better than the one we shared in front of the cinema.
James pushes his tongue into my mouth and the kiss turns wet, exciting.
There is no build up, no hesitation. I try my best to keep up.
James moves his mouth against mine with determination, his hands on my shoulders, and he doesn’t stop until we’re both panting for air.
When we separate he looks up at me with big eyes, and for the first time I notice how short he is compared to me.
In the light of the streetlamp he almost looks cute.
“Pretty gay. Happy birthday, Ash.” James turns around and walks back into the pub.
Left alone under the snow, I take a moment to assess what just happened.
Palming the front of my pants, I assume my dick is now just as confused.
I wonder if Ford is here yet. I really want to kiss him now.
Forget everything I wanted to talk to him about.
All I want to do is kiss Ford the way James has just kissed me.
???
After freezing outside, the inside of the pub is toasty. My cheeks are burning and I barely have time to look around before I’m handed a new drink. I hadn’t even realised mine was empty.
“There you are! The birthday boy.” Ford is everywhere, then. His natural scent, his strong chest against mine, his warm hands on my back. “I’ve been looking for you,” he shouts over the crowd.
The music is louder now, somehow more people have arrived.
A group of very excited people is cramped at the front of the pub, dancing and laughing.
I spot Sydney and the Ireland-chicken-girl at the bar, Darshi on the phone in a corner and Prince James talking animatedly to his court.
I wonder if he’s telling them to back off from the idea of us.
After that kiss, I’m not sure I’m ready to let go of the idea of us myself.
All seats are taken, but Ford leads me to a table and clears it out for us. I don’t hear what he says, but he has a hard, serious expression on his face and the three people stand up to leave without argument. They all wish me a happy birthday before dispersing in the pub.
Ford waits for me to take a seat and then snuggles closer to me on the long bench, leaving the seat across the little table free. “What did I miss? Tell me everything!”
He places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his palms, his attention completely on me.
It’s intoxicating. After months of not seeing him, I struggle to believe he’s actually here.
But his side is pressed to my side and his hair is curling in a whole new way and this close I could count the hairs on his arms. My heart is pounding as I start telling him everything he’s missed.
I start with Sydney and Darshi and how they have clearly been pining for each other the entire summer, but still managed to do nothing about it.
Ford laughs when I describe the girl Sydney came with tonight and he agrees, she’s really not his type.
Then, Ford frowns when I tell him that Darshi is currently dating someone who is her cousin but actually isn’t.
Ford simply comments, “Gross.”
He asks me how Christmas has been without family around and it is not easy to admit that I miss them, but if I was to ever admit this to anyone, it is Ford.
He listens while I tell him about Martin and Edwin fighting over the goalie position in the school’s football team and how Erik is the tallest boy in seventh grade.
I don’t mention my mom and daddy directly, because I never do.
Ford doesn’t ask. I don’t tell him that things have been a little better, lately.
That I haven’t felt the need to silence the screams and the pounding in a while, now.
My sleeves are doing a poor job of covering my scars but there is nothing fresh there.
Still, I pull them down a bit. Thankfully, Ford doesn’t even notice.
I tell Ford about school. It seems stupid to share how nervous I’m about not getting the right grades to get into uni, but who else am I going to complain to?
Anyone else would tell me I’m being unreasonable.
After all, I’m one of the best students in my year, I have nothing to worry about.
Not Ford. He listens as I nervously ramble about the English language and my essay ideas that would hopefully be enough to get into Birmingham University.
Ford doesn’t tell me that everything will go as planned. Instead he smiles at me and asks what my back-up plan is. Knowing it is Sheffield University makes him stand up abruptly and cheer out loud, then he stares at me in earnest.
“But for real. You don’t even need a back-up.”
I tell Ford about James, about our horrible date at the cinema and how I knew I had to end it before it went too far.
I tell him about the kiss just a second ago, how it made me ache for more and how it made me think of him, of Ford, of kissing him again.
Just like that time we kissed in the kitchen, whilst England was playing.
I blame the alcohol for that confession, but Ford says nothing.
He simply smiles at me and I watch his dimples make a glorious appearance.
When I’m done, hours must have passed. My throat is hoarse and my drink is empty again and everything around me is spinning. Only Ford is perfectly still, sitting beside me.
“Do it then,” he mentions casually, and I’m not sure what we are talking about anymore. When he sees my confused look, he adds, “Kiss me.”
It takes me by surprise and I snap my head towards him. “Pardon me?”
“Well. It’s your birthday, so you get to do whatever the fuck you want. You’re eighteen now.”
I’m pretty sure it does not work like that. “I haven’t even asked you about university.” I slur the words despite my best efforts.
Ford is shaking his head. “You are so drunk, mate. You really want to hear about uni?”
He has a point, I do not want to hear about uni.
I don’t want to talk any more. My stare travels from his eyes down to his nose until it reaches his lips, his perfect little cupid’s bow.
The first time I kissed him, I didn’t know what I was doing.
Four years later and I still have no idea what I’m doing, but now I know I want this.
“Go on then,” Ford dares, a hint of humour in his voice.
His mouth moves gently as he speaks, like a breezy wave.
I cannot look away and for a moment I forget where I am, I forget I’m supposed to be acting cool in front of basically the entire school.
The music disappears in the background as Ford closes the space between us, his lips almost brushing mine. “Fucking do it, Ash.”
It is nothing like I remember. This time I cannot seem to catch my breath as I tentatively kiss Ford, my brain in complete shutdown. The only nerves that decide to respond are the ones giving me goose bumps and an inopportune erection all too quickly. James was right. Pretty gay, indeed.
First, there’s tongue. A lot of tongue. Maybe too much tongue. I want to eat Ford whole, taste every corner of his mouth and forget about the way James kissed me earlier.
“I do want to know about uni, though,” I say against his lips.
“Really?” he asks with open eyes.
I pull back and nod sincerely, thinking that the time for kissing is over. Now it is the time for more talking and for pretending to be sober.
But Ford reaches for my lips again and my entire body melts.
This time, I keep my kiss light. Little delicate pecks as Ford is cupping my face in his hands and our breaths are one breath, our heartbeats one heartbeat.
I’m cold, yet I’m burning at the same time.
My tongue is awkwardly heavy in my mouth, tasting like a dozen different alcoholic drinks.
I find that I don’t care one bit. All I can taste is Ford.
I push it inside Ford’s mouth eagerly, twirling and twisting until my tongue meets his.
We kiss for the rest of the night, and Ford tells me about his life in Sheffield, where uni is great and the people are reeeally great until Sydney tentatively approaches our table with a glass of water.
“My dad’s here,” he announces.
There is no trace of the Ireland-chicken-girl beside him, no Darshi either. Looking around, I notice the pub is pretty much empty.
Holding a pile of presents, Sydney turns to Ford, “We’ll give you a ride too if you promise to take care of this mess.”
The mess is me and I smile proudly, feeling weightless. Ford helps me up and takes the pile of presents from Sydney, and the next thing I know I’m vomiting on the empty street and Sydney’s dad is wishing me a very happy birthday, Ashley Bergman.
I fall asleep to a glass of water and I wake up to a glass of water.
Ford greets me with a knowing grin and jumps on the bed next to me, making it bounce. The motion makes my stomach wobble and I remember the party, the vomiting, Ford tucking me into bed with the recommendation to drink this water. The kissing.
“Good morning,” I tell him as I carefully sit up.
I’m expecting nausea and more vomit and taking a deep breath I prepare myself. Instead, my stomach has never been calmer. My mind is clear, clean.
“How did you sleep?”
Small talk has never been Ford’s strength.
I know he’s dying to ask me about last night and that he wants to discuss the kiss.
I know he has no idea how to ask about it.
But instead of helping him out as I usually would, I decide to humour him.
Only because I’m still struggling to believe he is actually here. “I slept well. You?”
“Your couch is incredibly comfortable.”
I lay back down on my bed. “My entire family is away, you could have picked from four different beds. Or you could have slept here. You know, with me.”
With a shrug, Ford lays down next to me. My bed is not as big as his and living so close to each other, I can count on one hand the times we actually have spent the night together. It’s always been easier to just go back to our own homes.
Side by side, we stare at the ceiling until my eyes close again and for a while, I doze off to the rhythm of Ford’s heartbeat.
I stir back awake at the sound of Ford’s voice and I turn to look at him.
“Do you remember anything about last night?” he asks me, and I’ve read enough books, seen enough films to know this is when I lie, when I say “no, I don’t remember” and we move on with our lives.
We’d move on to who we were before I decided I wanted to kiss my best friend for real and to who Ford was before he let me kiss him again.
But I can’t do that. Not when kissing Ford is everything I want to do even now; not when his eyes are sparkling with something new and looking darker than ever.
So, I slowly nod. “I remember,” I say in a low voice, and then, because I’m a mess, I add, “but I’m open to forgetting if that’s what you want.”
Throwing an arm over his face, Ford hides himself from me.
The only thing I can see is the short stubble that was not there last night, the curly red hair cut short and the soft curve of his bicep.
I follow the harsh curve of his Adam’s apple and the idea of sinking my teeth in the golden flesh crosses my mind but I don’t move.
Finally, Ford sighs. “Whatever makes us stay friends, Ash.”
I have no idea what it means, but then Ford looks at me and there is only one dimple on his left cheek.
I want to tell him that I want to kiss him again, I have wanted to kiss him a lot since that first time.
I wanted to kiss him when he turned eighteen and fell from a tree whilst trying to pick cherries.
I wanted to kiss him when he graduated high school and had a party at his house with all of his mates and invited me even though I had no business being there, but Ford still wanted me present.
I wanted to kiss him when he left for Sheffield with his dad driving the car and his mom and her new boyfriend in the back, all waving at me.
I wanted to kiss him last night and I did, and now kissing him is everything I want to do until I die.
But staring at Ford, I realise that I cannot promise him that if I keep kissing him, I will continue to be his friend.
I try to imagine my future, what city I would live in, what career I could pursue.
I try to imagine an apartment, a pet, a family but my imagination is not working.
It’s never working. I can never see past today, past this week.
Sometimes I think I’m destined to die young, if I cannot see myself past the present.
There is only one thing I can see and that thing is Ford. He’s been there since I was a child and has been by my side through it all. That is the only future I see, one where Ford is my best friend.
I don’t ask him what he wants. The idea that Ford might want me back never even occurs to me. I just turned eighteen and I think I can read Ford’s mind, but I am so, so wrong.
“Okay then. I want to be your best friend forever,” I tell him, hoping he wants the same thing.
Luckily, he does. Lifting his forearm, he holds his open hand at me and waits until I squeeze it.
“Best friends.”
“Best friends,” I confirm, letting go of his hand.
Ford gets up and walks out of my bedroom. “Besides, it was too much tongue. Get up now, I made us toasties. Wanna piss about the twins’ PlayStation?”