Page 100 of Kissing is the Easy Part
She’s been getting mad at me so much lately. The usual quick fixes don’t work, and I’m running out of cute lines. “Hey, I’m sorry. Can you give me a smile? Rough day. Traumatized on the court, and now my girlfriend hates me.”
“You must be doing something wrong if she hates you.”
“She thinks I’m predictable.” I hesitate. “But she used to like me that way.”
The light shifts in her hazel eyes before she glances down. “I’m sorry. I still do. It’s just that we haven’t eaten out in a while, and I wanted everything to be perfect.”
“It is. Being with you is perfect.”
Her eyes soften, and she reaches across the table to touch my face. “Tell me what happened.”
“We lost because of me. Some days I’m just . . . off, and I don’t know why. Basketball feels completely out of my control.”Andso does my relationship.
“No one can control everything in their life.”
“Ever since my ACL tear, I haven’t been as good as before. Sometimes, midrun, I get this fear my knee will give out. I didn’t get reconstructive surgery because I didn’t want to miss senior year.”
“You want to play with Jake and Dylan.”
“Yeah. I could probably play in college, but it won’t be the same.”
I barely see them outside of practice anymore, and when I do, Coach is consistently yelling at me in the background.
“Hey, you’re still the best shooter on the team,” she says, which is generous of her.
The check arrives, and I grab it out of reflex. It’s worse than I expected. Apparently, Flora’s citrus and lychee mocktails are what’s keeping this restaurant in business.
“Don’t be silly.” She takes the check from me and slides in her Amex without a word. My stomach twists again, a reminder that I’ll always hesitate when the bill comes.
After dinner, we step into the alley behind the restaurant, and Flora kisses me. Her lips are fervent, and I kiss her back just as intensely to calm my nerves. She tells me she loves me, over and over, like she needs to hear it out loud.
As if she needs to convince herself.
When we pull apart, she asks, “What are we doing tonight? Should we go back to your place?”
It’s been a long week, and the thought of anything but sleep makes my head throb. But I know better.
“Actually, let’s go to a party.”
Flora laughs.
“I’m serious. Do you know any good ones?”
“You don’t have to do this.”
I hold my ground. We go back and forth, and finally she says, “All right. Ray has a small group together. We can go there.”
Since the breakup, I haven’t spoken more than five words at a time to Raymond. He probably doesn’t like me, since I’m thepossessive boyfriendwho doesn’t get his and Flora’s bond. And I don’t like him, either, or the fact that she needs this emotionally supportive, generational wealth–funded best friend. I’d rather drink a foie gras shot again than step into his house, but Flora is already chuckling.
She sounds lighter, bouncier, like an intensified version of her. By the time we arrive at Raymond’s house, she’s laughing a lot.
That laugh is the highlight of the night for me. I’ll never get tired of it, especially since it comes a lot less these days. As Flora works the room, I leave her to it and retreat to a corner.
She absorbs the atmosphere like a sponge, her energy bar recharging with every conversation. It’s both impressive and mildly concerning how much happier she looks talking to other guys. She moves through the room like a caged animal finally let loose, and something tightens in my chest.
It’s not jealousy—jealousy I can handle. It’s the dark fear that I’ll never be enough. She’s in her element here, shining brighter than the chandelier overhead. We got together the first time because of a party, and the second time after planning one. Turns out, I fell for a party girl. And she’s dragged herself away from her natural habitat for me.
When Flora returns, a tall glass of punch is in her hand. She sits down beside me. “Why aren’t you drinking?”
