Chapter Ten #2
I take a slow sip of my drink and keep my eyes on the shelf of bottles along the wall. Despite my persistent buzz, I still wish I had more alcohol for this particular conversation. “I do not.”
She leans on the bar and puts her head on her hand, giving me her full attention. “Describe her, then.”
“Seriously?” I really don’t want to get into it, but Jules looks so engaged and so curious that I take a deep breath and give in. “Okay, fine. Dark hair, tan skin, a little mole right here.” I point to a spot just above my lip. “Honey-colored eyes and a killer smile.”
“Big boobs?”
I make a noncommittal sound and reach for my drink. “Decently sized.”
She hums like she knows I’m downplaying. “What was her name?”
“Sophia.”
“Do you keep in touch?”
“Nope.” I drag out the word and let my lips pop on the “p.”
“Did you sleep with her?” she asks.
I’m very much regretting opening up about this. “I did.”
Jules watches me. Really watches me, like she’s trying to piece together the puzzle. “Was it not good?”
“Oh, it was good,” I quickly say. Too quickly, I think.
“Did you fall in love with her?”
I think about the two months we spent wrapped around each other. How she was five years older and much more experienced. Of all the things she taught me about myself and how to take care of my partners. How infatuated I was with her and the clear lines she drew between us.
“No,” I tell her honestly. I give her a pointed look that I hope indicates that’s all I’m going to share tonight. “Your turn.”
She snags her tea and shrugs. “I almost slept with a girl last week.”
I almost choke on my drink. “What? You had sex with a girl?”
Jules flushes and shakes her head. “I said almost.”
Almost.
My mind races. She almost had sex with a girl? Since when has Jules ever been interested in girls? Then it dawns on me. “The girl in all your pictures. The one who gets handsy. With the dark wavy hair?”
“Emily,” Jules confirms and doesn’t bother correcting me about the getting handsy part.
“You like her?” I ask, a weird feeling twisting in the pit of my stomach. Jules shrugs. She doesn’t deny that, either. “What happened?”
She watches her finger trace the rim of her glass. “Things got very heavy very quickly. Things that I initiated. I ended up panicking and rushing out.”
Her smile falters, as if she’s embarrassed or ashamed, and I ache for her. I’ve been there. Wanting something so bad but not being sure how to take it. “Why did you panic?”
“Because I didn’t know what I was doing,” she confesses. “I thought I was going to mess it up or not be good at it.”
She panicked because she lacked experience and not because the idea of having sex with another girl appalled her. My mind reels. How long has she felt this way? And how the hell didn’t I know? Is this her way of coming out to me? My throat goes dry at the thought. “Did you want to sleep with her?”
A thoughtful expression passes over her face. “Yes?”
“Are you asking me?”
“I mean, my body did. It really did, but my head?” The crease between her brow returns. “I don’t know, it would’ve been my first time with a girl and just…I don’t know. It was too fast.”
“I get that,” I tell her with a nod because I’ve been there, too. I don’t regret my first time; in fact, I think about it fondly. But if I could go back and do it all over again, I probably would’ve slowed it down.
We sit quietly, and I let the conversation roll around in my head. I watch Jules stir the ice in her tea, a thoughtful expression still on her face.
“So…you want to kiss girls?” I ask after a beat.
She laughs. It’s the same question she asked me when I came out to her when we were fourteen. “It would depend on the girl. But, yeah, I’d be open to it.”
We finish our drinks in silence, and when the bartender asks if we want refills, I turn to Jules. “Any other confessions?”
She looks at me seriously. “I cried three times during the ceremony, not two.”
I hum, not surprised, but that’s not at all what I meant. I think about rephrasing. What I really want to ask her is if she’s ever thought about kissing me.
By the time it hits midnight, we’re both trying to hold back yawns. The place has gotten relatively quiet, and with nothing else to do, there really isn’t a reason to stay.
“Now that we’re significantly more sober, are you ready to head out?” I ask, paying for our drinks.
Jules crunches on an ice cube and glances around. “I guess so. It’s that or watch Mason shove his tongue down Sarah’s throat.”
“And now we’re picking up the pace.” I sign the receipt and manage to catch my brother’s attention long enough to indicate that we’re leaving.
It isn’t until we step outside that I notice the gorgeous weather from earlier has decided to take a hike. Jules stands under the awning and stares at the hotel across the street that somehow seems miles away. “We’re going to get soaked.”
Large drops of rain steadily fall, bouncing off the pavement and making the air smell of wet cement. She sighs, and I don’t know if it’s because we’re going to have to make a mad dash or if it’s because she still thinks the rain is romantic.
An idea pops into my head. I step out from under the awning and hold out my hand, wiggling my fingers. “Dance with me.”
Her mouth twists into a small smile. “What?”
“You said you’ve always wanted to dance in the rain. So dance with me.” She slowly puts her hand in mine.
She lets out a shriek when the rain hits her skin, the droplets probably colder than she imagined.
I give her a twirl and pull her close, wrapping an arm around her waist. She follows my lead, and I move us in slow circles.
We’ve played in the rain together before, as kids, splashing and jumping in puddles. But this…this is different.
This is dangerous.
When the laughter dies, she stares at my mouth and licks her lips. I’m unable to look away. Her hand feels warm in mine, and I grip it like a lifeline. I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone as badly as I want to kiss her now.
When I finally bring my eyes back to hers, I hold her gaze until it becomes heavy with unspoken implications. She searches my eyes. Drops of water trail down her face, making what’s left of her makeup run.
“What Belinda Carlisle song?” she asks, a throwback to a conversation from months before. I had almost forgotten.
“Whichever one you want,” I tell her despite “I Get Weak” playing on an endless loop inside my head.
Her expression changes. From curious to understanding, and I know that something has just shifted between us.
“Ready?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I tell her without knowing what I’m supposed to be ready for.
She tugs my hand and leads me across the street to the hotel.
Our rooms are on different floors. I’m on the sixth, and she’s on the fourth.
We stand on opposite sides of the elevator, dripping wet and shivering.
The air feels as thick as the tension between us.
She won’t look at me, but I can’t seem to look away from her.
I should say something, maybe attempt to be funny, to dismiss whatever it was that happened while we were dancing. But I don’t want to.
When the elevator finally stops and the doors open, I step out with her, wanting to drag out the tension for just a moment longer.
The trek to the end of the hall is over far too quickly.
She nervously fiddles with her key card.
It takes her three times to get the door open, and when she does, we both laugh, the sound carrying some of the tension away.
She flicks on the light in the doorway, brightening the otherwise darkened room.
“Well,” I start to say. But the words “good night” get caught on my tongue.
She leans against the open door. “Do you want to come in?”
Desperately. “Do you want me to?” I ask instead, trying to convey what I really mean: Do you want me like I want you?
She nods. “Yes.”
My head is firing flashes of red, telling me to stop before it’s too late. Warning me of the consequences if I step inside her room. I cross the threshold anyway.
The door shuts softly. A drop of water trickles from a loose strand of hair down the front of her neck until it finally disappears down the V of her dress.
Oh, how I wish to be that drop.
“Alex,” she whispers breathlessly. The way she’s looking at me, like she wants to eat me whole, sets fire to my body.
This is a bad idea. I know that if I stay, it won’t quench my desire for her; it’ll ignite it.
And once it’s set ablaze, I’m not sure I’ll be able to extinguish it.
The smart thing to do, the safe thing, would be to tell her good night and walk away.
To preserve our friendship and pretend this never happened.
But it’s that look, one of uncertain and untamable desire, that triggers something inside me.
I slip my hand around the back of her neck and pull her against me, crushing our mouths together to finally taste her lips.