Page 15 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“What? What’s wrong?”
He reaches behind him, fumbles around, and pulls out a high heel. The velvet shoe I tried on before going to the party. He holds it up, scrunching up his nose. “I can’t concentrate with this digging into my back.”
I snatch it from him and toss it to the floor. With a playful shove, I push him back on the bed, and that’s when we both break into laughter. His body trembles as he wraps me in a hug. I bury my face against his chest, drowning in mortification but also giddy excitement.
When the laughter dies down, he brushes my hair away from my forehead and lifts his face to find my mouth again. This time, without the distraction of my shoe, it’s heaven. Sean might be reserved on the outside, but his kisses aren’t. We continue, stretching it out for as long as possible, and he keeps his hands above my waist.
When we finally stop, both of us breathless, I gasp, “You’re the best kisserever.”
“Hmm. Was it a tough competition?” He squints at me then smiles, and my heart kicks into a gallop. He seemed so serious at first glance, and now the contrast is amazing. I’ve cracked open an ice door to find a garden blooming.
Sean is my Wonderland, and I’ve tumbled down the rabbit hole. It’s a long, hard fall, and there’s no way I can climb back up again.
Chapter Four
Sean
Sunday brunch with my family has been a tradition for as long as I can remember. Every other weekend, after paycheck Friday, we squeeze into the same sticky booth by the window at our usual hole-in-the-wall breakfast spot, where the scent of warm maple syrup and spiced chorizo hangs in the air. The menu never changes. I typically refill my coffee at least three times to hype myself up for the day ahead, which is usually a combination of working out with Jake, two tutoring sessions, and catching up on any studying I feel shaky on from the week before.
Today, I might need four cups.
My lips still tingle with the feel of hers. It’s ten in the morning. I wonder if she sleeps in.
“You came home after midnight two nights in a row,” my mom says. Her tone is calm, more of an observation than a lecture. If anything, she’s usually telling me I study too hard.
“It’s just back-to-school stuff. You know how it is.”
“Make sure you’re getting enough rest.” Dad flips through the menu, like he’s ever going to order something other than the frittata with extra salsa. “You look tired.”
“He’s just ugly,” my kid sister, Lindsey, says, and my mom reprimands her. Middle schoolers are insufferable.
Grandpa, across from me, stirs cream into his coffee. When Grandma passed five years ago, he left Massachusetts for Washington, trading New England snowstorms for the endless gray skies of the Pacific Northwest. His eyes flick to me over the rim of his mug. He never misses much. “Anything good happen this week?”
Making out with Flora on her bed for hours while losing every last scrap of self-control I thought I had.I stare at the worn wood grain of the table. “Made a lot of three-pointers at practice.”
“Lame,” Lindsey says, practically bouncing in her seat. “I got first place in the regional creative writing contest!”
“Well deserved.” Mom ruffles her hair, even though we’ve known since the night she found out, and she hasn’t stopped reminding us. Dad joins in with more praise, and Lindsey launches into an info dump of her world-building. I tune her out after elf politics come into play. To be fair, I read the story and it’s good, just nothear about it three timesgood.
Text her.I never touch my phone during family time, but then again, I’ve never been kissed like that before either. What the sorcery, really.
Under the table, I scroll through Flora’s Instagram. She has 8,946 followers. She posts almost daily, and I can’t even reach the bottom of her feed. Every post is greeted with at least a hundred comments. The latest pictures are from the bonfire last night, where she was glowing. Before that, a mix of lake house photos, luxe lunch spots, European vacation highlights. Capri. Côte d’Azur. I was spot on when I told her she has a glamorous lifestyle.
Madison, Josie, and Carmen are in most of them, plus a revolving door of new faces. She wasn’t lying. She has enough friends to build an army.
Raymond Corbett makes frequent appearances too. There are pictures of them attending some fancy black-tie event, and even a couple of them on a . . .yacht? Her hair whips in the wind and her sun-kissed skin is flawless.
And then I see it.
A photo from summer. Cheerleading camp and basketball practice before school started. Flora and me, standing together, her in her cheer uniform, me drenched in sweat, a basketball tucked under my arm. I forgot this existed.
“Addicted to your phone much?”
I flinch. Lindsey leans over and tries to pry it from my hand.
“Cut it out.” I pull back, but not fast enough.
“Oh my god. Are you thirsting over a girl right now?”
