Chapter 13 – Braxton #3
I shake my head defiantly. We're not going to be sad right now. We're going to be optimistic. I close the distance between us and tug at both corners of his lips, forcing his frown into a smile. He looks like a demented puppet like this, and I can't stuff down the chuckle that bursts from my mouth.
He laughs too, even as he shakes me away. He bats his tongue over his lip and glances my way. "I don't think I've ever had a friend like you before. Hell, I don't think I've ever even had an actual friend."
The admission hits me like a fucking brick, the weight of his words wrapping around my throat like a noose.
It feels like it could drag me into the water and beneath the surface.
This... deep sadness in the pit of my soul.
A life without friends isn't a life at all.
I've been surrounded by friends since I was old enough to make them.
Just the same, I've been making enemies along the way, but friendship has always been the anchor that allows me to walk so carelessly through life.
The realization hits me that Pookie doesn't have those anchors holding him down, watching his back. These bad decisions he's made are nothing more than a product of loneliness. Nobody should ever be lonely.
"Don't tell Dixon, but you might be becoming my best friend.
" I settle a hand on his thigh and squeeze gently, and by the time I realize what I'm doing, my first instinct is to recoil.
But I don't. I stay there and squeeze a little firmer.
I lean my body against his and whisper, "I have one more gift for you. "
He cocks his gaze sideways, a moonlit shadow cresting over half his face. "What is it?"
"Close your eyes." I wave a hand at him as I begin digging through the bag from the bodega. When I glance back over my shoulder, his eyes are still open. "I'm being serious," I scowl. "If you don't close your eyes, I'll toss your gift into the ocean."
He flips his eyes to the side and sighs, "Fine."
I rip open the plastic wrapper on the Hostess Cupcake, stab the cheap wax candle into it, and flick the lighter that refuses to ignite.
I'm pretty sure the surprise is ruined by the time the lighter decides to work on the sixth or seventh flick.
I turn to him, presenting the makeshift birthday cake. "Open your eyes."
His eyes peel open slowly, and he feigns surprise the best way he knows how, but he's no Leonardo DiCaprio. The soft glow of the candle flickers in his dark eyes as he stares blankly at the miniature cake.
"Go on," I press him impatiently. "Make a wish before the wax starts dripping."
He swallows a gulp in his throat, closes his eyes, and blows, killing the flame on the first go. When his eyes peel open again, he takes the cake into his hand but doesn't eat it.
I lean in close and grin. "What did you wish for?"
He tongues the inside of his cheek, grabs the cake, and places it on the dock on the opposite side of him. Then his gaze twists sideways, but doesn't quite meet mine. Instead, his eyes linger on the dock between us. "Something stupid."
"Yeah, and it won't come true if you tell me." I nod in approval. He can keep this secret, but just this one. "I get it. I'm too nosey for my own good, but I want whatever wish you wished to come true as bad as you do. So, this is my cue to drop it, so I won't ask again."
He bows his head sheepishly and angles a fingernail against his teeth. "I'm not sure you'd say that if you knew what I wished for."
I spin out with a gasp. "Well, now you have to fucking tell me because otherwise, I won't sleep for—"
"I wished..." he cuts me off, his voice stammering. His chest rises and falls, his throat bobbing. He lowers his head some more until his forehead is practically pressed against mine. "I wished that you'd kiss me, but you're not—"
And it's like there's a desert in my mouth, sand and cactuses scratching at the back of my dry throat. My lips tremble, the sensitive flesh vibrating under the warmth of his breath. "I'm not—"
And the city has never been this fucking quiet. I swear I can hear his fucking heart beat through his chest.
No, wait.
That's myheart.
My lip brushes against his, and I think it's an accident at first, but then it's... not.
It wasn't the first time. It wasn't even the second. It was the third time, and it still felt different from the rest. More real. Terrifying, but soft. A hesitation, a test of my own limits. Waiting for all those loud-ass voices constantly in my fucking head to put a stop to this.
But for once, they shut up.
And all I can hear are Pookie's ragged breaths as he lets me take him by the back of his head, tugging at his hair, and pulling him deeper into the kiss.
I kiss him like this because nobody should ever feel lonely, especially not on their fucking birthday.
That's what I tell myself, anyway.
But out here, on the edge of this pier, where nobody can see us... I wrestle in the silence with my thoughts that I want this.
I fucking want this.
Him.
Not forever. Just right now. Just like this.