Page 67 of The Goat in the Bedroom
“That went well,” Gryff said weakly.
“He thinks I'm insane.”
“He thinks you're trying too hard. There's a difference.”
“The trust exercises didn't work at all.” I slumped into a chair. “Everything we've been practicing just made things worse.”
“Maybe they're not meant to work with everyone,” he said quietly.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Come on, let's go home.”
Back at the house, I sat on the couch replaying the disaster while Gryff made apology brownies in the kitchen. Well, reheated store-bought brownies, but it was the thought that counted.
“I don't understand what went wrong,” I said for the fifth time. “The eye contact thing works perfectly when we do it.”
“Maybe it's different with different people,” he offered, bringing me a brownie.
“But it shouldn't be. It's just a technique. A skill. Like... like a rugby play. It should work the same no matter who I'm doing it with.”
“Rugby plays work because your whole team knows them. Maybe intimacy is the same. It requires the right partner.”
I looked at him, something clicking in my brain. “I couldn't kiss him.”
“You tried. You just missed.”
“No, I mean... even if I hadn't collided with his face, it would have been wrong. There was no... spark. No anticipation. Nothing like...”
“Like what?”
“Like when we almost kissed during our exercises.”
The words hung between us. We'd never actually talked about those moments, the times when our practice had gotten so intense we'd nearly crossed that line.
“We've never actually kissed,” he said carefully.
“No.”
“Maybe that's the problem.” I knew what we needed to do. “Maybe I need to practice actual kissing. Not just the lead-up.”
My heart started racing. “It's the only thing we haven't covered in our trust exercises.”
“That's true.” My mouth was suddenly dry. “So you think we should... practice?”
Gryff took a deep breath and I couldn't tell what it meant. Was he about to tell me to fuck off? He scooted a little closer. “It would be the logical next step.”
“Right. Logical.” I turned to face him fully. “But what if you don't want to? What if it makes things weird?”
“Artie—“
“Because I know we're just friends and this is just practice but kissing seems like a big line to cross and what if?—“
He grabbed my face with both hands and kissed me.
It wasn't gentle or tentative or practice-like. It was immediate and overwhelming and absolutely perfect. His lips were soft but insistent, one hand sliding into my hair whilethe other cupped my jaw. I made a sound, surprise or relief or both, and he deepened the kiss, pulling me closer until I was practically in his lap.
Every kiss I'd ever had paled in comparison. This wasn't awkward or forced or performative. It was like coming home. Like finding something I didn't know I'd been looking for. My whole body lit up, every nerve ending singing, and I kissed him back with everything I had.
