Page 26 of Spicy or Sweet
That tiny moment of hesitation is what sticks in my head the most.
That’s the moment that has me finally swiping out of the video and opening Locked, where Noelle’s profile is still waiting on my screen.
That’s the moment that, good idea or bad, has me swiping on the big green button and sucking in a deep breath when the words “You’re a Match!” flash up on my screen.
14
NOELLE
I’m not in the habit of kissing people I hate.
Hell, I’m not in the habit of hating people—or kissing people much these days.
I have no idea what came over me, other than, in that moment, I couldn’tnotkiss her. And what a kiss.
It was nothing, really. Our lips barely touched. But I can still feel the ghost of her, burned against my mouth.
Has she burrowed under my skin so easily because I’ve avoided spending time with her for so long? Was it the lingering effect of being trapped together? Or is this just Shay?
She’s fucking with my head, and she’s not doing anything beyond existing in my orbit. It’s exhausting. I’m exhausted.
But one little kiss, and I’m… invigorated. Fuck. This is the last thing I need.
I’ve reached the point of no return where, like it or not, I have to admit it to myself: Shay Harland is fucking hot. She’s also pretty nice. Nicer than I’ve treated her anyway, but I already knew that. She’s never been the problem in that regard—my personal hang-ups are just that: personal.
So I have a crush. So what? I’m a thirty-year-old woman, I’ve had plenty of crushes in my lifetime, and, clearly, not a single one of them turned into anything worth a damn.
I wasn’t a late-blooming lesbian by any means. When the girls in our class started talking about having crushes on boys, Rora and I would sit in my bedroom and wonder if there was something wrong with us. Until we watchedGrey’s Anatomy,and I dreamed about Addison Montgomery for a month straight. Rora dutifully watched it on repeat with me before admitting that she had a thing for MarkandLexi. Formative experiences all around.
Growing up queer in Wintermore was better than most small towns. I’m sure comments were made, but my family is well respected, and if anyone did say anything, it never made it back to me. I had one girlfriend in high school—Mayor Blackwood’s daughter—but the world opened up for me in college. I dated casually, and not so casually, and had my heart broken so many times. And every time, I thought it would never come back together.
I’ve had crushes on all kinds of women over the years, though never someone so much older than me, or someone that I claimed to hate. Maybe hate is too strong a word. In fact, it’s possible I don’t hate Shay as much as I thought I did. Or at all. I’m so goddamn confused.
Right now, the only person I hate is myself, because I had no business kissing Shay, and I had no business liking it so much.
The permanent exhaustion I’m so used to is mixed with a buzzing energy at the center point of my chest that makes me want to throw up as I finally make it into my apartment and lock the door behind me. I like peace, but not like this. It’s too quiet, and I need something to shut out the screaming chorus of “What the fuck?” that’s blaring in my head on repeat.
I find a package of spicy ramen at the back of my pantry and toss it in a pan with some water until it’s cooked. I add a heaping spoonful of chili oil and crush up some uncooked noodles—I like the crunch—before devouring it. It does nothing to fill the empty space behind my ribs.
So I plant myself on the couch and pick up the sci-fi book Felix has been nagging me to read for months, but I can’t focus. I scrub my kitchen, sort my laundry, and water my plants until I run out of chores. I scroll through my phone until my feed blurs before my eyes, and I realize I’m not taking anything in.
Since I’m apparently all for admitting things to myself tonight, here’s another: I’ve forgotten how to not work. I’ve forgotten how to leave the bakery at a reasonable hour and just relax. Unless I have a specific task pre-planned, I have no idea how to fill my time.
I waste twenty minutes on an everything shower with scalding water to distract me from my own thoughts, and another half hour giving myself a waste of a blowout, considering I’m going to have to put my hair up for work tomorrow. And it’s still only eight p.m.
My bed is rarely made these days, and tonight is no exception. I have so little time to get ready before rushing to the bakery every morning, why bother? I climb under the rumpled covers and flick on my TV for the first time in I don’t even know how long.
I snort when a rerun ofGrey’sis playing. Of fucking course.
The episode is from an early season, and I take none of it in as I stare at the screen. All I can think about is… her. Shay. How her lips felt, how her hair felt, how much I regret pulling away. If that’s the only kiss we get—and it better be—then I really could’ve done more with it. I have to live the rest of my life knowing how soft her lips are, but not what she tastes like. EventheGrey’s Anatomywriters couldn’t come up with something so tragic.
She definitely kissed back. It was brief, it was nothing really, but she kissed me back. Was it just because she’s so nice, or…
Or did she want me to kiss her? Is she sitting toiling over what the kiss could’ve been? Is she imagining what it would feel like to have my lips all over her, my tongue all over her?
I know so little about her, and now that I’m no longer denying this stupid little crush I have, what’s the harm in looking her up?
I start with Facebook, expecting her profile to be locked down. But it’s not. She doesn’t post often—it’s mostly someone, her mom, I think, sharing things to her feed and her commenting or liking.
