Page 20 of Maid of Dishonor

“Five seconds, Samantha!” Wini says. “I said five seconds. Not one.”

I find myself wondering if I could just shove Winifred into the nearest closet. At least then we could kiss in peace.

“All right,” Sam says over her shoulder. Then she looks back at me. “All right,” she says again, her voice low now. “We’re mature enough to do this. I’m just going to do it, okay? But you do have to lean down a little bit.”

“I was planning on it,” I say, my stupid eyes straying again to her lips as she speaks. They’re perfect, really. “We can meet in the middle.”

“Right,” she says, nodding and sounding for all the world as though discussing the logistics of kissing is something she does every day. “Okay. Heads up: I have on peach lip balm, so be prepared. Ready, set—”

But I’m done talking. This whole situation is bizarre and excruciating enough without adding countdowns. So I lean in and kiss her softly.

I don’t move my lips, although it goes against every natural instinct in my body. Sam very clearly wants this to be strictly business, and my brain can see the wisdom in that. We can stand here with our mouths pressed together for five seconds, keeping our minds on innocuous things like the weather.

Sure. Yeah. I can think about the weather. Sun, wind, cold.

Easy. Easy peasy.

Until, that is, Sam gives a soft little sigh. It rustles out of the back of her throat and hits me with the force of a baseball to the gut. And it’s then that something roars to life in my chest—something powerful and hungry and familiar.

Thoughts of the weather fly out of my mind. I know nothing but the feeling of Sam pressed against me, her arms around my neck, her softness, her lips—

Sam must be counting in her head, because she breaks our embrace abruptly. In fact, she steps away from me completely, which has me resisting the urge to subtly sniff my pits and see if I reek or something. I quash the sudden feeling of bereftness rising in me, instead letting my arms fall loosely to my sides and trying to calm my racing heart.

I let her move away, but I can’t stop myself from watching her, looking for her reaction to the kiss. Her cheeks are definitely red, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She might just be embarrassed. Is her breathing uneven, though? It seems like it might be—

Wait a minute. Why am I analyzing this? This is Sam. My best friendand nothing moreSam.

And yes, all right, fine; though I’ve always suspected I would, I can now confirm that I like kissing her. A lot. And maybe sometimes I get a little jealous when I see couples who are in love, as much as I would never, ever admit that out loud. It would be nice to have someone in your corner like that. But that’s not going to happen for me. I won’t give away my heart only to be crushed when things end.

Which is why it’s a good thing when Sam turns to Winifred, looking as composed as she ever does. It’sgoodthat kissing me didn’t completely throw her off and make her feel things she goes out of her way to avoid.

Good. All good things.

“Well?” Sam says to Wini, putting her hands on her hips. “That was five seconds.”

Wini’s eyes glitter with something I can’t quite identify, which definitely makes me nervous, but then the old woman simply nods. “I’ll never try to set you up with someone again.”

“And?” Sam says, cocking an eyebrow.

“And I’ll say yes next time Boris asks me out,” she grumbles, smoothing one hand over her hair and using the other to brush imaginary wrinkles out of her blouse. “Now, can you two help me move that couch?”

And so we move her squashy red couch, and I pretend the whole time like everything is normal, like it’s just another day. But the feelings churning inside me have yet to go dormant again, and when I say goodbye to Wini and Sam for the day, I can still taste peach lip gloss.

Five

Sam

Winifred.That sneaky little schemer, meddling in places she has no business meddling. This is what I was afraid of, and she delivered. She said she thought we needed a kick in the pants? Well, she gave us one. She gave us a big fat dropkick, and now I’m hurdling head first over the edge of a cliff and most likely won’t survive becauseI kissed Carter on the lips.

I repeat:On. The. Lips.For five whole seconds.

Except it wasn’t actually five seconds, because somewhere around second number two I forgot how to count. Shortly thereafter—or maybe not so shortly; at this point, who even knows?—I realized that I had officially peaked. As of that moment, I had peaked big time. I was kissing Carter Ellis; what else in my life was going to top that?

Two days later and I’m still pretty convinced that’s the case. Especially because I seem to have bottomed out. Balance in all things, right?

I’m currently curled up in my bed, a heat pack on my stomach, a bottle of ibuprofen on my little nightstand. My period cramps are so bad that even though it’s already eleven in the morning, I’m still in bed.

That’s right. I’m still in bed. I live here now. Me and my pillow and my heat pack are happy together, thank you very much.

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