*
I watch the Harding family's car drive away, with Kennedy waving and smiling encouragingly from the back seat. When we went downstairs, she asked her dad, the sober designated driver, if he could drop me off at Curtis's. Kennedy said it was an emergency, and I promised my parents I'd be back soon, and I think the wine put them in a good mood because they didn't protest.
Five minutes later, and I'm here. It's drizzling, and I hope it doesn't turn into a full-out pour. Kennedy's dad asked me if I needed them to wait, but I said it was okay. Curtis should be able to drive me home if I need it. Otherwise, I can walk.
In the dark. In the rain.
I turn around and face the house. The last time I was here was when we picked up Curtis for the holiday. He was waiting by the front door and I remember I attempted to be nice on the drive down. I was annoyed at the time, but now those memories are amusing. My heart aches for the fun we had by the beach.
The lights in the house are on, hints of light peeking around blinds. I wonder what's happening inside. Is Curtis still playing Mario Kart? What will he think when he sees me at the front door? Is this a stupid idea?
I take a breath and walk through the front garden and up to the front door. I press the doorbell.
Less than thirty seconds later, the door opens and Curtis stands in the doorway. He's wearing sweatpants like me, but he's barefoot. The lightbulb behind his head makes him look as if he's wearing a golden halo.
I sigh in relief. "Lucky. If your parents opened the door, this would have been awkward."
After a beat, he breaks into a grin. "Actually, Harriet was about to open the door but I saw you in the window and shooed her away."
"I should have texted that I was coming, but, um…"
When I don't respond, Curtis takes a step back, holding the door open. "Do you want to come inside?"
"Uh… okay. I won't be here for long." I step inside the long hallway, scraping my shoes on the doormat, and Curtis closes the door beside me. The excited voices of Curtis's siblings drift from a nearby room.
"So," Curtis says.
"It was Kennedy's idea," I say.
His smile begins to fade, but I reach out, then stop myself before I touch him. I'm still not sure how he's going to respond when I tell him.
"Not in the way you think," I explain. "Or at least, not in a bad way." I recount everything that happened. "And then I came here," I finish. "To tell you. And, I guess, to ask… er…" I fiddle with my hands.
"Out with it," Curtis teases, but he's fiddling his hands too.
"Stop looking at me like that. You're making me nervous."
"I'm sorry." He tries to suppress his smile.
"We never talked about it," I say. "About what could happen if… if Kennedy was okay with it. But, um. You already know I like y — oh god, stop it," I say because Curtis has given up trying to look serious and a huge smile has taken over his face.
"I can't help it," he says. "Please, continue."
I rub the back of my neck. "I'm nervous." I'm sure Curtis feels the same way about me as I do about him. But what if, for some reason, he still says no? "You can read between the lines and figure out what I'm going to say anyway, so maybe you should go first —"
I comprehend every action a second late. Curtis stepping forward. His hand reaching up and touching my neck, and then the soft press of his lips against mine. I open my mouth, partly in surprise, and partly because a rush of desire passes through me.
Seconds later, he disappears. When I open my eyes — I didn't realise I closed them — I see him fall back onto his heels.
I say the first thing I can think of. "Do you have to go on your tippy-toes to kiss me?"
"Not my tippy-toes," he says, and I'm distracted by the way his lips are still parted.
"I saw you."
"I have to lean upwards a little. It's your fault for being so tall."
My lip curls. "You like it."
