Prologue #3
Connor chuckles, one hand coming to rest on my hip, warm and gripping tight. I’m probably supposed to touch him back, but I lock up, arms glued to my sides. “I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says, eyes roaming my face.
“Yeah?” I stutter out as he leans closer. I can smell the beer on his breath, see the slight glaze in his eyes. My heart squeezes from the whiplash of his moods. But that’s good, right? That he had fun?
“Yeah. You’re … you’re really cool, Cubby. I like spending time with you.”
“I like spending time with you too,” I whisper.
His lips are near my throat, and I swallow.
“I love making music with you.” Connor, for all his moodiness, is a genius, the kind of guitarist I could only dream of being.
We both know he’s better, but it pushes me.
Makes me strive and work at this thing I love, this raw form of creation.
He brings out this need in me to impress him.
I feel his smile at the spot right below my ear.
“I’m glad,” he murmurs, pulling away to look down at me. “Because we’re going somewhere. The band, I mean. Somewhere huge. We’re going to be the next big thing, I can feel it.”
“You shouldn’t jinx us.”
His look is pure mischief. “With people as good as me and you around, luck has nothing to do with it.”
My smile is outrageous, but there’s no dimming it. I bask in his praise like a plant seeing the sun for the first time after a brutal winter.
“One day, I’m going to write the biggest song in the world about you,” Connor says, dragging a hand down my cheek, letting it rest on my throat.
I’m about to respond, mouth open, when he crushes his lips to mine.
Our front teeth bang together, my head rocking back and hitting the lamppost with a crack.
Connor doesn’t seem to notice as he presses against me harder.
It takes me a moment to realize that this is a kiss.
Connor is kissing me. And I don’t know why, but my immediate thought is that it’s nothing like it was with Darcy.
It isn’t soft. No warm lips and hesitant touches. It’s gruff and wet and he’s hurting my jaw with how hard he’s holding it to keep my mouth propped open. He sticks his tongue down my throat, and I feel like I’m drowning.
After a moment, I roll my head to the side, desperately gulping at the cool night air. Connor’s still there, lips at my neck. Along my collarbone.
These are better, gentler, and I force my muscles to relax a bit, lifting my shaky fingers into his hair. He lets out a small grunt of approval.
Something in me stirs, and I lean into the feeling, wanting it to erupt through me—craving the butterflies and the free-fall rush and the tingly cheeks from blushing and smiling.
Because this is what every girl wants, right?
A hot, brilliant guy telling her he likes her.
Writing songs about her. Holding her hand and kissing her under streetlights.
He travels back up to my lips, and this time I’m prepared and brace for impact.
I kiss him back, trying to keep pace. I must do an okay job because when he pulls away, he’s smiling, cheeks flushed.
He’s so cute like this, grin boyish and broad, so different from the usual smirk he wears. I want to keep him like this forever.
“Let’s get you home,” he says, taking my hand and leading me the last few blocks to my door. He kisses me twice more before I go inside, my lips raw from the intensity.
I tiptoe to my room. Darcy is curled up in bed, fast asleep.
I stare at her outline for a minute, my jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed, an ache pulsing at my temples.
I can’t trace the knot of feelings in me, this tangled mass of misfiring nerves since kissing Connor.
Is this what it feels like when you kiss the person you fancy?
Confusing and hectic and leaving your brain doing somersaults?
It must be.
Relationships are never easy, that’s what everyone says. Shows and movies and books always talk about how much hard work it is … This must be part of that.
With a sigh, I throw on my pajamas and snuggle up next to Darcy, creating a protective shell around her curved back, how we normally arrange ourselves when she sleeps over. Darcy stirs, looking over her shoulder at me. She blinks a few times, eyelids heavy, then she smiles, nuzzling closer.
“How was it?” she asks, voice thick with sleep. She reaches behind herself, finding my arm and pulling it over her, holding my hand to her chest.
“Really great,” I say. And I’m pretty sure I mean it. I clear my throat. “He kissed me.”
Darcy squeezes my hand. “Atta babe,” she cheers through a yawn. “I knew you could do it.”
“Practice makes perfect.”
She chuckles, then yawns again, burrowing deeper into the sheets. Into me. There’s that swooping feeling again, like my heart’s a balloon, lifting me into the clouds and leaving my stomach behind. I feel a bit sick from it.
It’s okay that I didn’t feel that with Connor. Totally fine. Just because I didn’t, doesn’t mean I won’t. It’ll take time. More closeness. Maybe a few rounds of snogging when he isn’t buzzed.
“Darcy,” I whisper after a few minutes. “Did … did our practice feel different to you?” I have no baseline, no metric, to know how I’m supposed to be feeling. How a kiss is supposed to make me feel. And kissing my best friend, well, obviously that will create a funny feeling. It’s a funny thing.
Darcy doesn’t answer, her breathing deep and steady with sleep.
Which is fine. I don’t need her answer. I’m too in my head, too lost in my thoughts, per usual. It’s a knot of brambles up there, and I’m better off not fertilizing the weeds.
She’s my best friend, that’s all.
Things with her will always feel different.