Page 39 of The Last Kind of Kiss
Bristol’s tone is coated in venom when he gestures to his engorged cock. “Does itlooklike I’m fucking with you?”
Even in desperate need of each other’s help, that invisible delineation still exists between us, dissecting the past and the present. And all that thinking about the past does is nurse the self-deprecation inside me. The forehead kisses, the way he’d hold me after sex, the endless compliments he’d give me every second of every day. I’m chasing after a life I’ve already lived—a life that doesn’t exist for me anymore. And the first tumble down that dark, unclimbable abyss is reliving the feel of his hands on my naked body.
Maybe it’s because I’m all woozy right now, but I swear I see a tiny devil and angel poof into existence on either side of Bristol’s shoulders.
Just give in, Lila. Sex is sex. It doesn’t mean anything. Itdidn’tmean anything to him. Why would now be any different? Use him like he used you.
Don’t do it, Lila! You’re stronger than this. He doesn’t deserve to see you naked again, much less touch you.
I don’t listen to either one, rubbing the heel of my palm into my forehead like it’ll magically reinstate reality. “How is it possible that we’re both feeling the same thing?”
“I don’t know, but this is my own personal hell,” he grumbles.
Hell would be less hot than this floating death prison. “Oh, you think you have it so bad? At least I haven’t been the one flashing my photoshopped-looking abs at you!” To get my point across, I whack him in the stomach, right in those little squares of muscle that tempt me like high-quality catnip.
He winces and groans. “You’re right, Lila. You walking around in that skimpy bikini doesn’t have an effect on me at all.”
“Stop villainizing me!”
“How am I villainizing you?”
“God, you make me so fucking crazy that I can’t think straight!”
“And you make me so fucking crazy that all I can think about is you!”
UGH!
If I’m going to get through the night without strangling him with the bedsheets, then I need to redirect this rage somewhere else—and if I can’t do it through sex therapy, then I might as well do it through a good, old-fashioned foodgasm. I abandon the covers, readjust my bikini bottom, then stomp my way over to the pyramid of chocolates, scrambling to unwrap a piece like I’m competing against a nonexistent timer.
Bristol chuffs a humorless laugh. “What? No comeback? You’re not going to tell me how wrong I am? Or how I shouldn’tsay shit like that anymore because you’ve made up some dumb set of rules to keep us apart?”
Any other time, I’d throw his words right back in his face, but I’m too distracted by the strange packaging of these chocolates. They’re not your standard Hershey’s or wholly organic health bars. They’re wrapped in black plastic with golden lips emblazoned on the front, but there’s no brand name or product name located anywhere.
Bristol’s still droning on in the background, but all of it goes in one ear and out the other. I turn the suspicious-looking candy over in search of an explanation, and the Devil himself must’ve planted this cocoa-flavored warfare here because the only word printed on the back in big, bold letters isAPHRODISIAC.
Shit.
I might’ve slept through all of English 001 in college, but I know what an aphrodisiac is. And both Bristol and I just had our fair share. If I wasn’t feeling good before, I’m definitely not feeling good now.
I throw the chocolate in Bristol’s general direction—not really caring if it hits him in the head or not—and he unfortunately catches it due to his inhuman hockey reflexes.
“Why did you just throw this at me?” He waves the deceptively innocent stimulant in his hand.
“You can read, can’t you?”
Bristol turns the chocolate over as he mutters a litany of curse words, and the minute our trains of thought merge on the same track, his whole face drains of color.
“Fuck,” he growls, palming his forehead and sawing his teeth in irritation.
I start to pace back and forth, my bare feet slapping against the hardwood, and I wedge my thumbnail under my front teeth. “The crew must’ve put them here.”
He tracks my every step, something dark and unidentifiablepassing through his eyes, offsetting his usually bright demeanor. His shoulders are hunched and tensed, and the cords in his neck flicker sporadically. “Why would they do that?”
“I have no fucking idea! Maybe they were trying to turn this whole scheme into something real to cover their asses, or maybe someone hired an incompetent intern who couldn’t take one second to read the goddamn chocolate packaging!”
I have no idea how long the effects are going to last. I’ve never taken an aphrodisiac before. I’ve never needed to! My sex drive is perfectly fine, thank you. And the audacity to imply that Bristol and I need help in the chemistry department. Ugh! That’s—that’ssonot the case. We’ve been nothing but handsy in front of the cameras. We’ve got enough sexual tension to power a few defamatory articles.
God, and walking doesn’t help with the problem downstairs. Now that I know I’ve just ingested a guaranteed pussy gusher, I feel the effects working double time in my body, cranking my libido into that nuclear red zone that spells nothing but trouble.
