“I’m really happy for you that you have a penis.”
I glare at him and let out a small huff. “You know what I mean. It doesn’t freak you out…the thought of being with me physically. Where there will be my…”
“Penis. I would hope it would be there and not somewhere else.”
I deadpan. “I changed my mind. I am no longer in love with you.”
“Relax. I’m just joking around.”
“That’s the thing. This isn’t some joke. I am extremely serious. Baseball serious. This is a lot for a person to process at once—whether it’s the person experiencing it or the person on the receiving end.” I take a step back, needing some space. My thoughts are too crowded.
“You think you might have discovered you have romantic feelings for me. Do you want to have sex with me?” I meet his gaze, but it gives nothing away. “I know you’ve struggled with your sexuality and attraction. I, in no way, want to pressure you, but how do you know you won’t go running the minute dicks are out? There are so many ways this could go wrong.” God. So. Fucking. Many. “What if you realize this affection you’ve always had isn’t actually romantic?”
The confused organ in my chest is doing laps. It has no idea what its destination is. Are we stopping at euphoria or getting dropped off at desolation? There’s pressure behind my eyes, but I’m not sure if the threatening tears are from happiness, sorrow, or the chaos of too much all at once.
“What if you realize this was a huge mistake?” I say hoarsely. “I-I’m not sure I can handle that devastation, East. Because that’s what it would do to me. I’ve loved you from afar our whole lives knowing I’d never have you. To let myself think I can—” My voice cracks, and I can barely get the rest out. “To try and then have it taken away. It would gut me.”
His top teeth dig into his bottom lip. He searches my eyes. I’m not sure what he’s looking for. He slowly closes the distance between us, and now I’ve found myself backed up against another wall. I slump against it, East towering over me. I hate how much I love it. I hate how much I want to stay like this forever.
“Can I kiss you again, Maddy?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“Please,” he whispers. “I need to show you something.”
I swallow hard and nod unsteadily. My muscles lock tight, but I’m not bracing for a fight this time. I’m bracing for my ruination. Because that’s what his lips on mine are going to do. Ruin me. It’ll either be in the best way or the worst.
He leans in.
We’re about to find out.
East’s lips press against mine at the same time his hand slides up my neck to cup the back of my head. There’s no uncertainty this time. No. Just surety.
His mouth passes over mine, gently, unhurried. He takes his time, each kiss lighting me up like a flare. Just when I think it’s about to fizzle out, he does something new, a fresh flare igniting. He sucks on my top lip. Grazes his teeth over the bottom one. Presses a small kiss to the corner of my mouth before coming back for more. My heart is trembling in my chest; it quivers with disbelief. Everything it’s ever wanted is within reach. But it’s too scared to believe it’s real. I’m too scared to believe it’s real.
His fingers tighten on my skull, and he angles my head. Then his tongue is there, sliding over my bottom lip, dipping inside. Shallow. Not demanding. Asking permission. My legs go weak, and I fall heavier against the wall.
I’m still terrified to touch him. My hands are probably permanently stuck to the wall at my back at this point with how hard my fingers are digging into it. There will be finger holes in the drywall. A memorial: Maddox Barnes was kissed to death here.
I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a very confused twelve-year-old trying to sort through what he was feeling for his very muchmalebest friend. Kissing Easton. Oh God, how I’ve dreamed of kissing him. So, I let myself indulge in the dream. Even if it could morph into a nightmare.
My tongue slides to meet his, and he gasps against my mouth. Everything draws tight at that small contact, that small hitch of breath. And then it snaps. I reach for him at the same time he pushes into me. Slow obliterates, and his tongue surges into my mouth. I roll mine against his. Fingers grasp. Hair is pulled. Blood ignites. A fire builds deep in my gut like I’ve swallowed the sun. The euphoria of Easton’s tongue tangling with mine is one I’ve never known. I’m scared to even think it, but I think maybe he feels it too. It has my mind contemplating dangerous things.
Like maybe he means it.
Maybe he is in love with me.
Maybe I can have him.
Please, God, let me have him.
I whimper against his mouth, not sure if it’s my cry to God, to the universe, to anything that might listen, or if it’s simply the bliss that’s overwhelming me right now. East swallows it down and kisses me harder. His free hand slides down my arm and wraps around my wrist. His fingers tighten. My pulse stutters. Then he brings my hand between us, slides it up his stomach, up over the swells of his muscled chest to rest over his heart.
He flattens it, laying his over mine, pressing my palm into him. His lips disappear from mine, our panting breaths dancing between us. His eyes bore into me, stealing my ability to look away.
“Do you feel that?” he says.
My fingers twitch over his frantically thumping heart. Each beat pierces my palm. Strong. Sure.
