“I know. But still. It’s not just the way you sound. It’s the way you talk too…” I trail off. Why did I bring his voice up in the first place? Usually I don’t speak so instinctively. But I don’t want to be silent, because if we do that, the conversation will end and he might leave. And I don’t want him to go.
Funny, that. I came here to be alone, but now I want his company.
“Thank you,” he says, oddly formal. “I…I like your voice, too.”
The compliment fills me up with warmth. Logically, it’s silly to care so much about what a stranger thinks of me, but I do.
And, maybe it’s foolish, but I move my leg ever so slightly. Now, it’s definitely pressing against his.
He inhales so softly it’s almost inaudible, but he doesn’t move away. His leg remains against mine for what feels like an eternity. I realise I’m holding my breath.
Maybe it’s the uniqueness of the situation because normally I’d never have the guts to be so forward, but I say, “Do you want to move over here? So I can hear you better.”
It’s the worst excuse in the world. I half expect him to laugh at me. The other half of me thinks he’ll dismiss me.
But instead, he says, “okay,” and then he’s crawling over and leaning against the wall beside me, and I still can’t see anything, but I can sense the mass of him, all male, and my stomach swoops.
Our knees knock together, and the edge of his shoulder brushes mine. Even this close to him, I can’t see him. I have no idea what’s the colour of his hair, or his skin, or his eyes. I’m guessing he’s my height from my awareness that his head is close to mine. I suppose I could reach out and touch him, but I won’t.
I can’t even see his profile. I can’t make out his nose, his lips, his chin.
He turns, and I realise he must be looking right into my eyes. As I was studying him, I unconsciously leaned in closer and closer.
I suck in a sharp breath, which sounds way too loud in the space between us.
The stranger appears to be holding his breath. Then, in a slow, quiet voice, he says, “Do you want to try it?”
“Try what?” I’m impressed that my voice comes out steady.
“Kissing,” he breathes. “Just once. Since neither of us have…”
I should consider it logically. Do I really want to give away my first kiss to a stranger in a closet? Someone I can’t even see?
He might be a stranger, but I feel like I know him. Rationally, I know that’s not true. You can’t know someone after one conversation. But I feel that he understands me, and speaking to him…it puts me at ease.
I’m still trying to justify myself even though I knew the answer as soon as he said it.
“Yes,” I whisper.Just once. Just to try it.
The stranger’s exhale is audible as we bring our faces closer. I must be breathing equally as heavily, and in any other circumstances, I’d be embarrassed, but it doesn’t matter. He feels exactly the same way I do.
“Can I touch you?” I ask. “Just to — to feel where you are.”
“Yeah,” he says.
I reach out, and my fingertips brush something warm.
“That’s my neck,” the stranger says.
I drag my fingers upwards, and he remains as still as a stone until I touch his jaw. It’s smooth, and I wonder if he’s naturally like that or if he shaved before the party. My hand travels up to his mouth, his bottom lip dipping like a pillow under my thumb.
“You can touch me too,” I say.
His shoulders move, and two hands fall on either side of my waist. He snatches his hand back but after a moment, returns them, this time high enough for my chest. Then my shoulders. Then, the hair at the back of my head. He twists some around a finger.
“Your hair’s soft,” he murmurs.
I lean in closer. “Can I kiss you now?”
