Page 11 of Summer Breakdown
“God, you’re so hot.”
Frankie wants to know why she doesn’t swear. It’s something she noticed at the quiz. Cam swears with every other breath; Jasmine says for heaven’s sake. She’ll ask her when they walk home, if she gets the strength to stop kissing her against the side of someone’s house.
“Okay, wait,” Jasmine pants. Frankie’s chest heaves, and it’d be embarrassing if Jasmine didn’t match her pace.
“Are you alright?”
“We need to go, or I really will fuck you down an alley like a teenager.”
Frankie gasps, and Jasmine frowns at her.
“What?” Jasmine asks, the frown turning into something else. Frankie doesn’t know what it is, but she knows she’ll crumble under it.
Jasmine’s hand wraps around her throat, and Frankie tries to hide her moan, badly. Though, with Jasmine’s smirk, she might have felt it. Frankie always liked a little power play, but she’s never been on the other side. Everything Jasmine does is frustratingly sexy. Like it’s second nature to her. It’ll be sexy if she does, because how can it not be? Jasmine’s thumb rubs against Frankie’s lower lip as she repeats herself.
“What? Tell me.”
“You do swear,” she whispers, and Jasmine smiles. Her face brightens like a sunrise. Birds might start chirping. She’ll throw an entire ecosystem out of sync with that smile. It’s bright and beautiful, and Frankie tries to catalogue every part of it before her lips are against hers again.
“Fuck off,” Jasmine mutters down her throat, then she pulls Frankie down the street.
Love at first sight isn’t something Frankie believes in, and not even because she finds herself unlovable. (She does, but that’s not the reason behind it.) Love at first sight makes no sense. People who say it makes sense are dirty little liars. It’s infatuation. It’s lust. It’s something that feels a lot like Jasmine’s fingers softly brushing against the back of her hand.
So, Frankie knows she doesn’t love Jasmine, because she doesn’t know her. She knows she likes cherry lemonade, that she’s stupid good at a music quiz, and that the pressure of her tongue against Frankie’s makes her eyes roll back. She knows she’s flirty and funny and so fucking beautiful it makes her skin melt.
Frankie knows she’s not in love with her. But she can understand why someone would love her, and that’s basically the same thing.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Wait,tellme,”Frankiesays, with a laugh. Jasmine thinks she’s delightful. “You have to tell me.”
“You’re so bossy,” Jasmine replies, but she’ll tell her anyway, because Frankie has her hand wrapped around her elbow. “I say BRB because MSN ruined my brain at fourteen, and now, I can’t get it out.”
“God, that’s so good,” she says, between gasps of air. Finally, Jasmine can see her house. They should have made it home forty minutes ago, but they kept getting distracted and making out under lampposts, against walls, fences… Jasmine thinks it’s romantic. Anyone that looks out of their window will think they’re drunken teens. The other day she tried to take a woman home, but when the travel took longer than five minutes, she decided it wasn’t as fun anymore and bailed. It’s not like that with Frankie. Every slow step, every laugh backed up against a tree, every lingering glance has made Jasmine more excited for the rest. Still, even if tonight ends here, she’s had a good time.
Jasmine likes Frankie. She’s funny, she’s nice, and she’s interesting.
And she’s so fucking hot. But that’s not the thing Jasmine cares about right now. It was, when she first saw her, but then Frankie’s hand landed on her elbow, her thumb rubbing while she was staring at her drink like she didn’t even realise she was doing it. She smiled every time Jasmine askedher a question, which she then answered badly. Jasmine wants to know her.
Cam said Frankie was good at picking people up at the bar, and Jasmine can believe it. Though, stupidly, there’s a part of her mind that wonders if that’s all it is. Frankie is good at flirting, at keeping someone’s attention, and she’s achingly pretty. But Jasmine hopes there’s something else, too.
“Tell me something,” Frankie says. It comes out as more of a question when she asks than it did when Jasmine said it, but it makes Jasmine smile all the same.
“Pink Starburst are shit.”
Frankie laughs, leaning against her. “You’re so annoying,” she replies fondly. Then, a moment passes, and she says, “Please.”
Jasmine thinks about it. What does she want to tell Frankie? She could tell her she has children; that’s usually what she tells people first. She’s not ashamed of it, and she’s not asking anyone to do anything, especially not a one-night stand. Her kids have parents, and despite Mike’s useless tendencies, he is their dad, and they love him. She doesn’t need anyone else. But she doesn’t waste her time with people who think children are the devil. There’s a nervousness sitting in her chest that if she tells Frankie, she might leave.
Jasmine shakes it away.
“I have two children,” she replies.
Frankie’s eyebrows rise, and Jasmine swallows.
“You do? Tell me everything! Kids are so cute.”
Jasmine smiles. “What do you wanna know?”
