Page 72 of Kiss Me, Maybe

“Have you never used one before?” She doesn’t sound surprised, merely curious.

“I live with my parents.” I roll my eyes. “The walls are paper thin. Believe me, I’ve been tempted to buy one, but I’ve neverwanted to chance it.”

“They do have silent ones. I can give you some recommendations for those.” I nod, and she resumes cutting. “As for how it feels…” My blood heats in anticipation. “Well, I’ve always had a preference for suction. It doesn’t feel the same as oral with a partner, obviously. There’s a circular tip that pulls air to create a suction feeling.”

“That’s the one you use in the bath?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Unbidden, the thought of her using one of those suction toys on herself pops into my head. I only caught a glimpse of the silicone device before she snapped the drawer shut, so I hardly remember what it looked like. Not that that’s any deterrent to the dangerous thoughts churning inside my brain. Not when I’ve already seen what Krystal’s body looks like mid-orgasm. The way her mouth drops open in an O, the flush of her skin. Replace the bedsheets with a clawfoot tub and bubbles covering most of her body, and the image shouldn’t be nearly as arousing but somehow it’s more.

And then my thoughts veer into even more treacherous territory. How good would it feel to use one of those devices on myself? How would the soft silicone feel on my skin, where I’m most sensitive? I cross my legs just thinking about it, squeezing my thighs together to quell the growing ache.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice is innocent enough, but her timing is uncanny. She’s in front of me now, snipping some framing pieces. She has to know what kind of thoughts are circling my brain after this conversation.

“I’m thinking that’s a lot of sex toys for one person.” It justcomes bursting out of me, no tact. “There were at least five in the bottom drawer alone.” I clamp my mouth shut when I realize I sound judgy without meaning to, guilt niggling in my chest when Krystal’s face turns a shade redder. “How many more do you have?”

“There’s maybe one or two in my nightstand. There was a sale last time I was online, and I kinda went a little wild.”

“Isn’t there a law against owning this many sex toys in Texas?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s dildos. Either way, I doubt they really care that much about a bogus law. Besides, what the government doesn’t know won’t hurt them.”

“It shouldn’t matter to them, period. We’re allowed to own more guns than sex toys. What kind of a sick joke is that?”

“Let’s pretend that’s why I own an obscene amount of sex toys at the moment.” Krystal smirks. “This little collection is my small protest. I’m sticking it to the man by… sticking it to myself.”

The room is quiet for a long beat. Then we both look at each other and burst into laughter.

“Do you want to see what your hair looks like so far?” She shakes out the remaining length of my hair, which now barely grazes my shoulders. I stand from the toilet seat and glance in the mirror. The difference is stark, and when I try to remember the last time I cut my hair this short, I come up blank. In college, guys would always comment how much they liked my long hair. Though I was never attracted to them physically or romantically, I always swelled at their praise. Sucked it up like a sponge. Wore my hair down every time I went out and reveledat the result of turning heads.

“I want to go shorter. Do you have hair clippers?”

She shakes her head, brows creasing. “Should I be worried about you, Angel?”

“No.” I shake my head in the mirror and watch the short curls fly. They’re tighter now that all the extra length isn’t weighing them down. My head feels light. “You know in the movies when women cut their hair after a breakup to signal a breakdown or radical transformation?”

“Sure.” Her brows crease, wondering where I’m going with this.

“I think I’m in my radical transformation era.” The truth is, I’ve come a long way since discovering my identity. Hell, I’ve come a long way since coming out to three people and then feeling frozen in my life, so afraid of what people I know will think when they find out. I don’t care about any of that anymore.

“Radical, huh?” Her fingers skate the ends of my freshly cut hair. “I think you’d look pretty hot with short hair, or even a ’90s boyfriend look.” My eyes shut and for this short moment, I sink into her touch. At least I’m prepared for it to be short, but when I open my eyes, our faces are an inch apart. I suck in a breath, stunned. Something like anxiety or excitement shoots through my veins until I remember what she told me last weekend.

She’s not going to kiss me. She’s going to wait for me to make a move first—something I’m not even sure I know how to do. My eyes flick down to her lips, pink and plush and parted on a breath, and then I move my head down to meet her. Our foreheads touch, noses grazing. My heart is jumping in mychest like it’s searching for an exit route, stilling my progress. Are we really about to do this? In her bathroom with my hair scraps at our feet?

We’re breathing the same air, staring at each other for surely what’s longer than necessary as I get my thoughts in order. Just as our lips graze—the most incremental of touches as my bottom lip rubs against hers—I divert course completely and rest my forehead on her shoulder.

Kissing her now would feel wrong with the scavenger hunt hanging over my head. Even though kissing her is the only thing I want to do. But nothing’s changed. As long as she believes she isn’t capable of love, we can’t go anywhere. But none of it is strong enough to stop me from wanting to kiss her anyway.

“I can’t kiss you yet,” I mumble into her skin. Her nails graze my scalp in the most delicious way, and it’s almost tempting enough to change my mind. “I just can’t. Not until I cancel the scavenger hunt.”

She freezes for a moment beneath me. “Is that what you want?”

“I want to kiss you,” I tell her instead, because it’s the truth. “I want you to be my first. But I can’t in good conscience do that, not right now.”

“I understand,” she says, freezing again when I plant a kiss on her bare shoulder. I don’t even mean to; it’s just that when she’s this close, she’s even harder for me to resist.

“Sorry.”

---