Chapter 6 – Pookie #3
He's a suave Spanish man, and I'm just plain California desert trash.
He reaches me, the weight of his body shifting over mine. I swallow a breath, equal parts anxiety and steadying myself. I choke on the words as they come out, "Your girlfriend is right beside me."
"She likes to watch," he purrs against my lips, and then kisses me.
It's softer than I'd imagine, a slow brushing of his lips and then wetter as he adds his tongue, lapping over the sensitive flesh of my lip.
A part of me wants to retreat, to run—the fight or flight that's always running on a full tank of gas.
The other part of me is lost in the memories of what a kiss used to feel like, back before love became colored in bruises and pain.
When he pulls back, smiling from ear to ear, I allow my gaze to linger on him for a second too long.
"That was hot," Avalon coos. "Do it again."
"How about we let fate decide?" Gunnar scoffs. He's clearly a stickler for the rules. "Noob, take a spin."
I could refuse. I could pass the buck along.
The truth is, though, that I'm getting awfully tired of being the boring one, tired of being the one who's ruled by my anxiety.
It's there. It'll always be there, sucking the oxygen from my lungs and suffocating me when I need to breathe the most. Spinning this bottle might send me into a fucking full-on panic attack, especially if it lands on Gunnar.
Something tells me that a panic attack wouldn't be boring for the audience.
It'd be something, which would be a lot, considering I'm apparently giving them nothing.
With great apprehension, I duck forward and give the bottle a spin.
A shadow falls over the circle as Dixon and Braxton pass over the bottle of fate, taking a seat back across from me.
I watch with intense eyes as the bottle slows, passing over Gunnar, Maverick, Avalon, and myself.
And then it slows to a crawl, ticking like a clock as it passes Tamra and Boone. And then slower still.
Inching, crawling.
To Dixon.
And then just a little bit past him.
Fate chooses Braxton.
My heart skips a beat, and I freeze in place. Of all the fucking men in this room, it had to land on the only straight one. Sure, Maverick has a girlfriend, but he's pansexual. He likes this and that, and theys and thems. I wait for Braxton to put a stop to this, to refuse to do it.
He doesn't.
Instead, he hooks a finger and gestures for me to approach.
He can't be fucking serious.
"What are you waiting for?" he asks quietly, breath raspy.
I look to my right, almost as if I'm asking for permission from Avalon.
She gives me nothing other than pursed lips and folded arms, her eyes daring me not to chicken out.
I glance to my left to find Tamra, and I'm definitely not asking her for permission.
She holds in a long breath, and if she were a cartoon character, I'm pretty damn sure steam would billow out of her ears.
It takes a lot of nerve to get so worked up about someone possibly kissing your ex-boyfriend when the reason he's your ex-boyfriend is because you cheated on him.
Avalon gives me a slight nudge, palming the small of my back.
Don't fucking run, I think to myself. But there's the other half of my brain that hasn't been contaminated with this need to perform.
Not yet. It's screaming, yeah, this is one of those times where it's a pretty fucking good idea to run.
The cameras are watching. My body betrays me, though, as my hands land on the marble floor, inching forward and into the open center of the circle.
I keep waiting for Braxton to break character—to laugh, to scoff, to scowl, to stand up and walk away.
But he's steadfast, those fucking blue eyes practically begging me to approach.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the daggers in Tamra's eyes.
Something about that look on her face grants me a little more strength.
Halfway across the circle, I'm scared what it's going to look like when I'm rebuffed. The whole world will see me, a gay man, being rejected a kiss by a straight man. Would I be the predator, or would he be the asshole? Either way, it wouldn't be boring.
I finally close the distance, my palms slack against the floor on either side of his hips.
He swallows a noticeable gulp, the first hint of nerves on his end.
Is he thinking the same thing as me? Is he waiting for me to put an end to this before it begins?
Or is this whole thing a ploy to make Tamra jealous?
I angle forward, my lips trembling as I meet him where he sits. My mouth so fucking close to his. His straight fucking mouth. My not-at-all-straight fucking mouth. Gay mouth. Hungry mouth. Parched and deprived mouth.
"Don't be boring," Braxton whispers, hot air brushing over my lips. "And don't tell a fucking soul if Maverick is a better kisser than me." He chuckles lowly, his bottom lip rumbling against mine. "Are you ready to be a star?"