Chapter 8 #2
“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 words I’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 picked the Day 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 will always take 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 being really honest. 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 is Vale .
Actually, my first thought is Please don’t move while my dick’s still trying to break through my shorts and 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 P é rez, 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 Valent í n? 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—”
“Pi n a!” P é rez 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.”
I watch them both almost stumble down the steps and keep running toward an empty table, grabbing cans of Bud Light out of a cooler nearby and setting a game up.
And then my eyes go back to Vale, still sitting on the railing.
He’s already looking at me, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to ask the obvious question.
Except, “I, uh—I don’t want to keep you from your friends. I can—”
“Come on,” he says, jumping down. “I think I owe you one. I can bail. And I’m actually incredibly impressive when it comes to beer pong. Let’s throw some balls in some cups.”
I nod, smiling at him as I let him grab my hand and lead me over.
“You still up?” Ahmed asks, coming downstairs and finding me on the couch, playing FIFA, the volume turned up only as loud as I need to just hear it, both of us matching in our black boxer briefs. He heads for the kitchen and whispers an excited “Who swiped a bottle from the party?”
“Kat,” I say. “P é rez dared them.”
“I’m going to make one last drink. You want one?”
I look over at him, giving it a second of thought. I’m not buzzed enough that one more drink is going to kill me. It’d be a good keeping-the-energy-alive-for-thirty-more-minutes sort of drink. So, “Sure. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
A few minutes later, he’s dropping down on the couch next to me, handing me a cup just as I finish the game after whooping some computer ass. “You have fun tonight?”
“Mm-hmm,” I try to answer while taking a swig. “How early did you leave?”
“Maybe an hour after you went outside. One of the girls ran into more of her friends, so the other one started dropping some loud hints.”
“And when did she leave?”
“From here? About fifteen minutes before y’all got back. You have any luck? Oh , is that why you’re still up?” He gently knocks his elbow into my arm, like he’s fully found me out. “Waiting for a girl to give you the come over text?”
“Nah, nothing like that. I promise.”
“Not even the girl you’ve been hanging out with?”
“Nope.”
I never ended up texting Leana again. Honestly, I didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about her after I got pulled into that make-out session. And I guess the fact that I made out with someone has to count as some kind of success for my first college party.
A finger goes to my lips, and I softly trace the bottom one, thinking about Vale.
I wonder if he’s thinking about me too. Short flashbacks of our kiss, of his fingers, of my hands on him, of our tongues run through my mind.
How we basically hung out the rest of the night.
After annihilating P é rez and Kat in beer pong, we sat around with them, shooting the shit.
At least, for about ten minutes before P é rez was getting up and needing to find more liquor.
The memory of Vale leaning over me to listen to Kat and his hand going to my thigh to help him stay stable plays clear in my head.
Of him asking if that was okay and me telling him yes and how it felt kind of …
nice. Definitely the White Claw’s fault. Got me all touchy.
And it’s still got part of my body ready to act up.
I chug the rest of my drink and hop up and stride over to the stairs before things quickly start getting noticeable. Don’t need to get hard when I’m an inch apart from Ahmed and we’re both only in our underwear. Plus, upstairs, in my room, I can pull up a video and take care of business.
“I have to, uh—” I start, already a couple steps up, “I’ve got to piss. See you in the morning, bro.”
“Catch you in the morning, papi.”
And it’s got to be because of the White Claws and the way four cans of those motherfuckers does things to my brain that, in those final moments as my hand’s quickly bringing me over the edge, it’s not Leana and the memories of her from the past week, but Vale I’m picturing, kissing, and touching.