Page 45 of Love You A Latte

I kiss her nose and she giggles, then gets to work on our faces. Before I know it, I’m wearing more color than I ever have in my life and each time I blink, the gems on my cheeks twitch. It’s annoying, but entirely worth the joy it brings Addison.

She pulls out her phone and turns on the camera, taking a selfie as she kisses my cheek, then hums a pop song about red wine as she saunters into her closet to finalize her outfit.

My jaw nearly hits the floor when she comes back out in a hot pink crop top, the bootiest of booty shorts, and white hightop converse with rainbow laces. She pulls open a packet of temporary tattoos in various rainbow and pride designs and wets a washcloth, applying them liberally to her arms and legs. She even puts one on the side of her neck. It’s lips, rainbow lips, like she was kissed by a gay fairy.

I’m kinda jealous, but before I can think on it further, she’s tugging my arms this way and that, inspecting them.

‘Ugh, you have no open spots! I’d have to cover some of your actual tattoos. Is that okay?”

I blink, forcing my gaze from her barely contained breasts that are within inches of my mouth, down to her hands, where I see she’s still holding the tattoos.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

Addison places a few of her colorful tattoos on my biceps, blowing on each to dry it and sending tingles across my skin every time. Then she coats those delicious lips in sparkling glitter lipgloss and I nearly die.

“Does this mean I can’t kiss you?”

“On the contrary, please do,” she says with a grin.

I take the invitation, and to my consternation her lips taste like strawberries. I groan, swiping my tongue across her bottom lip and into her mouth, then wrapping my hand around the bare skin of her waist as I tug her into me.

Addison pulls back with a laugh.

“I’ll just have to bring this with me,” she says, re-applying the lipgloss and then pocketing it. She tapes her ID and a credit card to her boob beneath the fabric of her top while I stare.

“Gotta be careful of pick pockets,” she says. “You’ll want to keep your phone and wallet in your front pocket. Also is it okay if I leave my phone here? I don’t have anywhere to put it and we can use yours if needed, right?”

“Sure,” I gulp, still staring at her, unable to believe this sparkling, colorful woman is my date. I’m going to be the envy of every person we come across, straight or not.

I grin. “Let’s go.”

~~~

Addison shows me her favorite spots in the local gay neighborhood, Hillcrest, where the Pride celebrations and events are located. It’s all I can do to keep up with her. She bounces from one place to the next, easily navigating the crowds and saying hi to everyone she does and doesn’t know. She somehow collects a string of rainbow Mardi Gras beads, which she winds around her wrist before tugging me to a bridge where we lean against the railingand wait for the parade to go by.

She makes friends with the folks standing by us within minutes, and soon I’m pulled into a discussion of everyone’s favorite drag queens. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before and my heart is starting to feel too full. Like I’mtoohappy.

Is that a thing?

After we have flowers thrown at us, along with more beads, glitter, and confetti from the parade, we wander down the road toward where the block party will be held later. Addison drags me into a dessert shop where we share a bowl of gelato—three scoops—then she bops along the sidewalk as she jams out to the music blaring through the streets. It’s incredible, seeing so many people of all walks of life coming together to celebrate each other and our culture. We make our way back toward where we parked a few hours later, and I notice a Pride flag flying high in the sky above us. It’s massive, bigger than any I’ve seen before, and there are people of all shapes and sizes dancing together in the street underneath it.

I blink in wonder.

My heart is feeling too full again.

My thoughts snap back to the present when Addison’s hand is tugged from mine, and I look down from the flag to see she’s been swooped into a dance with a queen right there on the sidewalk. She’s laughing, her head thrown back as the two of them shimmy and shake, twirling and grinding to the beat. I grin and pull my phone out, taking a video, then Addison asks her to sign her butt cheek where it sticks out from the bottom hem of her shorts.

The queen gladly does, of course, even putting on fresh lipstick and leaving a kiss next to it while calling her ‘darling’.

Naturally, I can’t let that go without meeting it, so saunter over to claim my woman. I tug Addison’s sparkly lip gloss out of her pocket, coat my lips, and start planting kisses all over her bare skin. I bite her neck and press a kiss over the mark, wrenching a gasp from her lips. Then I reapply the gloss, and leave a sticky mark on her left boob. More gloss, bicep. More gloss, wrist, then next to her bellybutton. Addison’s gasp has turned into joyful laughter and she twists her fingers into my hair, blue eyes widening when I yank one of her legs up, hooking it over my elbow as I kiss her inner thigh.

Someone wolf whistles behind us and I grin, leaving another kiss on the opposite knee, then the back of her calf. Finally, I turn her around, get my lips nice and sticky, and mark her other ass cheek.

I sit back on my heels, admiring my work as I squeeze her ass once, then move my hands to her hips and turn her around to face me again. Addison’s face is flushed and her smile looks permanent when I stick the lipgloss back in her pocket and slowly stand, letting my fingers dance across her bare skin.

“Addison,” I say, my voice husky.

“Yeah?”

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