Page 58 of Summer Breakdown
“Yeah,” Jasmine says quietly. Frankie’s jaw tenses. At some point, Jasmine will like someone she dates. Everyone likes her, so Jasmine only has to pick and choose. And Frankie will lose her, because she knows if she was lucky enough to be with Jasmine for real, she’d never let her go.
“I want to be…” Frankie starts, but she’s not sure where to go with it. Frankie could say she wants to be her friend, but she’d be lying, because she wants to kiss her all the time. She wants to be whatever Jasmine wants. “I want to be close with you.”
“What?”
Frankie sighs and turns around. Jasmine has her sweatshirt on, but her shorts are in her hand. “I want to be your friend. I want to know how you are. I want to know you went on a date.”
“Okay,” she says, but she’s not smiling. She’s looking at the floor, and her brows are practically vibrating with the fact that she’s not telling the truth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Frankie asks.
Jasmine sighs. “Don’t ask me that.”
“What, why?”
“I am trying so hard to get over you.”
“Get—get over me?” Frankie says, tripping over her words. “Don’t. Don’t get over me. Please.”
“I wanted to go on a date with you,” Jasmine says, looking anywhere but at her. Frankie’s heart might stop when she finally looks up at her. Jasmine hasn’t been annoyed every time she saw her. She’s upset. “And you pretend I never even asked you.”
There is not a single part of Frankie’s mind that thought Jasmine would want to date her. She asked her out, she kissed her, and it doesn’t make the slightest sense. She knows it’s true while she’s here, telling her, because Jasmine doesn’t lie. She’s wild and free and tells the truth the moment she can. But the second she’s gone, Frankie can’t figure out how it could possibly be true.
“I was in a relationship for the longest time—one where I had to second-guess every message and every look to know if it was true,” Jasmine says, and Frankie has disliked Mike since the moment he walked in. Maybe before that. It turns out Frankie is just like him.
“If I was wanted there, or if I was just there already. I tripped over myself trying to be someone that he wanted to spend the night with, and now I’m almost fucking thirty and no one has ever liked me enough to hold my hand when I fall asleep,” she says.
“I do,” Frankie begs. “I do like you. Please, I am sorry. I want to talk to you.” How can she tell her she’s made her this sad because she uselessly can’t function as an adult? That it feels like there’s an elephant on her chest simply with the idea of asking her how she is?
“Then why don’t you? I keep doing what the books tell me too. I’m initiating conversations and I’m giving you space but you’re not … I don’t know what else I can do.”
“I am trying,” Frankie replies. She takes a deep breath. “It sounds childish and so utterly ridiculous when I try and say it out loud, but I swear I spend all my free time thinking about what I’d say to you if I could just get out of my own head.” She closes her eyes and thinks about what she can tell her. What’s true? She chews on her lip as she trifles through thoughts she never tells anyone until she’s brought back to the room with Jasmine’s hand against her cheek.
“Tell me how to make it work,” Jasmine says faintly. “Risk something. Make it easier on me, please.”
Frankie tilts her cheek against her palm. Jasmine’s brows are furrowed, and even with her red cheeks and her eyeliner smudged against her eyelids, she’s the best thing Frankie has ever seen. It doesn’t take much to lean in. Frankie’s nose brushes against hers, and it feels different from the last time. It’s not flirty and sweet. It’s the desperate need to feel her lips against her.
Jasmine opens her mouth slowly, but it’s enough for Frankie to know she wants to kiss her. Frankie slides her tongue along Jasmine’s lip and grips the back of her neck. Her breath is running out, but still, she keeps Jasmine close. The warmth of her mouth brings her to life. When her vision goes spotty, Frankie takes a short breath, but she’s back,her lips against Jasmine’s so quickly she’s not sure how to quantify it.
Her hands move to Jasmine’s thighs, lifting her until she sits on her desk. Frankie pushes anything that might be in the way onto the floor. Jasmine’s hands claw at her back, her neck, her waist, but this time, Frankie is in control.
Frankie’s hand slides up her sweatshirt to rest against Jasmine’s waist. Jasmine bites at her lip, pulling her closer by the band of her trousers. It’s frantic, the way their lips move. The way Frankie pulls her close. Jasmine moans quietly, like she’s trying to keep it behind her teeth. Frankie wants to hear it. She needs to hear it.
Frankie pants. “I am always thinking about kissing you.”
Jasmine swallows. She might be thinking about how to kill her with a stack of accounting papers. Frankie crosses her fingers against Jasmine’s waist. Then, the heavens align, and Jasmine pushes her tongue into her mouth. Frankie sucks at her lip, cataloguing every moan, every gasp, every flick of her tongue. Her skin is warm under Frankie’s palm, and she slides her fingers until they sit in the dip of her spine.
Jasmine’s hands tug at her collar, pulling her closer.
“God, you’re perfect,” Frankie mutters.
“You can’t—“ Jasmine responds.
Frankie moves back slightly. “What?”
It’s the worst thing she could have said, because Jasmine pulls back entirely. She’s frowning, but her hands stay against her chest. Then, Jasmine pushes her away, and Frankie stumbles back.
“Just because you look like that doesn’t mean you can do what you want,” Jasmine says. “I am telling you I need you to talk to me. Don’t distract me with your beauty. If you don’t want to, it’s fine, but you need to stop looking at me. You can’t casually touch me. It’s not fair to pick me flowers and draw me and then refuse to do the one thing I’m asking of you.”
