Page 30 of Kissing is the Easy Part
“Isn’t that what the last fifteen photos were for?”
“They need a constant reminder.” She presses a kiss to my cheek. “The world needs to know you’re mine.”
“Iamyours, don’t you worry.”
It’s flattering that she wants to claim me. At least now her fans can ease off on the DMs. With merely five mighty posts, I’ve never cared about social media, but there’s this small part of me that does take some quiet satisfaction in the fact that she’s not hiding me. The only person who still calls her nonstop is Raymond—but that’s fine. They’ve been friends forever and she finds him hilarious.
She posts the photo, and I try to start again about the cloud chamber I’m building. Flora nods, but her focus is already gone, her fingers flying across her phone. I cut my story short and jump right to the conclusion.
It’s ironic. She likes that I’m STEM savvy—finds it hot, even. But sometimes it feels like that’s all she really wants from me: the label, not the substance. A random fact here or there? Sure. Dorky in small doses—Sean, you’re so cute, send me more. But the second I go deeper, her attention slips away.
That’s not her fault.
I’m a boring guy who’s crazy about a girl who gets bored easily. Even when we’re out with a crowd and enjoying ourselves, she’ll announce that she wants a change of scenery. When Dylan broke up with Sydney (again) two weeks ago, Flora decided he needed a proper distraction. Instead of playing pool at his house as we planned, she showed up at his basement with the entire cheerleading squad from our rival school, plus a full bar setup, with shot glasses and all. The “breakup party” came out of nowhere, and by the time I caught on, she was taking body shots off me. I thought I’d be teaching her how to play pool, not lying half naked on the table with salt crystalizing on my stomach.
Jake’s family runs a small wine import business, and he’s usually able to get his hands on alcohol, but even he was blown away by the scale of it. He slung an arm around Flora, laughing. “You’re a prodigy. Now I’m tempted to date someone just to break up and get this treatment.”
“How did you even get them to show up?” I asked, still trying to process everything.
Flora shrugged. “Everyone likes a good party.”
Now her phone buzzes. She checks it, eyebrows lifting. “Sydney texted—they got back together over Thanksgiving. Did you know?”
“Yes, didn’t think it was newsworthy. It’s a volatile situation.”
“Time for aso lucky to have you backcelebratory party?”
“You’ll never run out of business if you throw one every time their relationship status changes.”
“Fine. A simple double date, then. It’ll be fun.”
“You know they’ll probably break up again before we even get reservations, right?”
I’m still full from Thanksgiving dinner and exhausted from all the family commitments, plus keeping up with my workload, but I don’t say no to Flora.
* * *
The next evening we’re at a dimly lit restaurant, crammed into a corner booth. We barely sit down before Dylan’s already sticking his tongue down Sydney’s throat.
“This is what you want?” I raise my eyebrows at Flora, who doesn’t seem to mind one bit. “Dinner with porn?”
She shrugs. “Want to fight porn with porn?”
Somehow, we make it through the meal between make-out breaks and bickering over appetizers. After the two disentangle from each other, they suggest hitting a board game café. We order hot chocolates and initiate a game of Wingspan, chatting in bursts between turns.
Dylan flips over a card and narrows his eyes. “I lay three eggs, then tuck a bird under another bird? This game’s got layers.”
“It’s called strategy.” Sydney stacks her food tokens into a tower.
Between admiring the artwork and unsolicited trivia about migratory patterns, Flora takes over the role of talk show host and veers into couple dynamics. “What’s the most romantic thing Dylan’s done for you?”
Sydney squares her shoulders. “He beat up a couple of seniors for me and got detention. Also, we were stranded in the rain once, and he played guitar and sang to me until it stopped.”
Not surprising. Underneath all the bravado and eff bombs, Dylan’s the kind of guy who crouches to talk to little kids at eye level, helps grandmas carry groceries without making a big deal out of it, and chops vegetables for his mom, waiting up to eat dinner with her after she gets home from her law office.
Serenading? Checks out.
Sydney tosses the same question back at Flora, who blinks a few times. “Sean texts me the sweetest things?” She picks up her phone. “I love his texts. He sends me biology trivia, for example—”
