Page 12 of A Kiss on a Dare
I nod, opening the can of Coke and taking the first healing sip. The carbonation burns in the best way as I add, “We both got drunk and after we delivered you to your place, he came with me to mine. And I…sort of kissed him when we entered the building.”
“You? Kissedhim?” Cat’s eyes go so wide and round I’m immediately reminded of that old Hans Christian Andersen fairytale—the one with the toad who had eyes the size of saucers. Was itThumbelina?
“Yeah,” I say, and though the memory of how last night ended still stings, I can’t keep the smile off my face. Just for now, before Cat finds out about the disastrous conclusion. “Do you remember that you actually dared me to kiss him?”
“I? Daredyou?” Cat’s surprise is so genuine it hits me—she was absolutely hammered last night. For a split second, my sleep-deprived, hungover brain spirals into a wild theory about those mystery shots messing with her memory while also coaxing Gabrielle into exploring his secret homosexual fantasies.
“Yup,” I reply with a smirk, taking another big gulp of my Coke. God, it tastes so good it almost—almost—makes me forget how mortifying last night was.
“So what happened? What did he do?” Cat presses, her impatience growing as I don’t rush to spill the rest.
“He kissed me back,” I say, and before I can get another word in, Cat lets out a triumphant shriek.
“I TOLD YOU HE HAS GAY EYEBROWS!” she shouts, her face lit up like she’s just won the lottery.
I snort, rolling my eyes. “First of all,” I start, giving her a mock-annoyed look, “saying you can detect a gay person just by their eyebrows iskind ofhomophobic.”
“It’s not!” Cat insists, her voice tinged with mild exasperation. “All it says is that straight guys are pigs, nothing else.”
I laugh out loud at that, the sound shaking off some of my lingering tension. But then I sober up, realizing I need to finish the story before her fantasy spirals completely out of control. I can’t dwell on what didn’t happen any longer.
“Actually,” I say, pausing to let the words sink in, “I don’t think he’s gay.”
Cat’s brow furrows, her face scrunching up in confusion. “Then why the fuck would he kiss you back?”
I shrug. “Who knows? But when things got a little steamy, he suddenly let me go and said he needed to leave.” I try to keep my tone neutral, but I know Cat can see the disappointment in my eyes.
“How steamy?” she asks, her voice suddenly serious, like she’s piecing together evidence for a case.
“Well…” I mutter, feeling my cheeks flush. “He, uh…looked at me…rubbing my cock against his leg.”
Cat lets out a loudpffft, and I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“How did you get to that?” she asks, completely flabbergasted. Then her eyes narrow. “Wait, did you have your pants on?”
I laugh even harder, my face burning now. “Of course I did! I don’t know…we were just…in the moment with the whole making out thing.”
Cat bites her lip, her expression deadly serious, as if she’s trying to solve a complicated puzzle. “So he let you grind against him and then just…left?”
“Yes,” I say, sighing.
She frowns even deeper, her brows knitting together. “How drunk was he?”
I shrug again. “I don’t know. He seemed fine to me. Plus, he told me he has a high tolerance for alcohol, so I assumed he was pretty sober.” I pause, debating whether to tell her my theory about the funky shots they both had, but decide against it. It feels too much like a tin-foil-hat conspiracy.
“Hmmm,” Cat drawls, clearly deep in thought. “How involved was he? In the making out.”
“Pretty involved,” I admit, my voice quiet.
“And how drunk were you?”
“Well, apparently drunk enough to completely misread the situation,” I say with a self-deprecating chuckle.
We fall into silence, both lost in thought, stealing glances at each other. The fact that Cat isn’t immediately launching into a passionate argument about how thisprovesGabrielle is gay feels like a warning sign. If anything, it suggests she might think I’m being a bit delusional about the whole thing, and that thought stings.
After what feels like forever, I finally say, “He’s on call today. I don’t know how I’m supposed to look him in the eyes.” The embarrassment washes over me all over again, fresh and overwhelming, and I bury my face in my hands.
Cat stays silent, shaking her head slowly, and that’s when it hits me—I’m completely screwed.
