Elliot leans in and smiles, all straight white teeth and deep cheek dimples. Something tightens in my stomach as I snap the picture and assign it on his phone before air-dropping it to my own. We trade back, and when my phone is tucked away safely inside of Franny once more, I turn my head to look at Elliot, only to find him looking right back at me. For the second time tonight, I’m struck by just how…beautiful he is. Parts of his features are flawless, his bright white teeth, straight nose and carved jaw making him look like he could grace a billboard in Times Square. But the spray of freckles on the apples of his cheeks, the worry lines on his forehead, the way one eye is slightly darker and less hazel than the other…those are the things that scream beauty to me. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen someone who is so perfectly imperfect before.
“Sorry I ruined your chances of hooking up tonight,” I say, my mouth feeling unnaturally dry. I lick my lips, but it’s like sandpaper against sandpaper. “Though, the night is still young. If you want to head back out there, I’m sure there are a hundred people lining up to go home with you.”
Elliot tilts his head ever so slightly, then gives it a small shake.
“Nah, I’m good. I’m perfectly happy with where I ended up tonight.”
Relief washes over me, and it's surprising but not all that confusing. I’m having a good time. I don’t want this time with my new friend to come to an end yet. I think it's cool that he wouldn’t ditch me to get his dick wet even though I’ve given him the okay. That just proves what I’ve thought all night—Elliot Baker is a genuine person, and I desperately want to be his friend.
Neither of us says anything for a long moment, but it's a nice silence. The kind of silence that hangs between people who are content to just be. I watch as a small smile creeps across Elliot’s face, pulling at the corners of his lips and deepening the dimples on his cheeks. I’m overcome with the urge to stick my pinky out, to pop it in one of those dimples just to knowwhat it would feel like. I’m powerless against the way my body starts to move, to the way I lean in closer to Elliot, the way my hand sneaks out from behind my head and reaches for his cheek.
And before my brain can hop on board with the magnetic pull, Elliot is moving closer, too. His face tilts, and I open my mouth to ask him if he wants to come in and hang out longer—or maybe ask him if he’s read my mind and is offering up a dimple for poking—and then his lips are there, hovering over mine, his breath warm and minty against my mouth. He gives me plenty of time to stop, to say no, to push him away, but I don’t. Instead, I keep my eyes open while Elliot’s flutter shut, and I let him press his lips to mine. I don’t kiss him back, not right away. I let him hum against me, the pressure of his mouth wildly different than anything I’ve felt before and yet somehow familiar. I let him nip at me, feel him smiling against my lips, and only then do my lips part slightly, welcoming the flavor of him into my mouth. I close my eyes, surrendering to the moment.
He smells like something earthy and soft, and he tastes like peppermints and sugar and the slightest tang of the beer he drank earlier. My hands are stiff at my sides, but the rest of me seems to melt as the kiss goes on, sweet and exploring. It’s different than any other kiss I’ve ever had, not only because Elliot is aman, but because I’m not used to being the one without the control. I’m not typically the one to lie back and be kissed. I’m the one who does the kissing, the controlling, the taking.
Elliot licks at my bottom lip, coaxing me to open up for him, and only then do I realize what’s going on. Elliot is kissing me. I’m kissing him back. I’m seconds away from making out with a man I just met, and I don’t think I hate it.
And yet, instead of opening up and letting him explore my mouth, to taste his tongue, I pull back.
“El…” I sigh. The quiet whisper of my voice might as well be a megaphone for how it cuts through the still night, sending the floating starlight of this mystical moment dissipating into thin air.
“I know,” he says, dropping his forehead to mine. His hand comes up to cup my cheek, and I wonder if he’d been thinking about touching my face the way I’d been thinking about his dimple. “I know. I heard you when you say you don’t hook up during hockey season. I just…I like you, Alex. I couldn’t go home tonight not knowing what your lips taste like. I needed to know what it felt like to kiss you.”
His scent is still all around us, all over me, making my head feel dizzy. I barely hear myself when I start to speak.
“It’s not that, El. It's just…I’m not…I’m straight.”
Elliot’s head rears back, his pupils blown out in…anger? No, not anger. It looks more like shock. He’s shocked that I’m not queer?
I mean…I did just kiss him pretty enthusiastically for a few minutes, so I guess that’s fair.
“You’re straight?” he asks, and yup, that’s definitely shock that I hear in his voice.
“Yes?” I answer, arching an eyebrow. Elliot’s brows scrunch together, making the lines on his forehead all the more prominent and impossibly cuter and…
Huh. Now I’m the one who’s feeling a little confused. But the air around us has become thick with awkward tension, and despite myself, I feel the need to break through it.
So, like an idiot, I sit up, throw out some jazz hands and say, “Ta da!”
Elliot’s lips are parted, that quiet, confused contemplation still all over his face as he sits up, too. To his credit, he doesn’t seem all that embarrassed, which is good. I’d hate to make him feel bad for misreading whatever signals I must have been putting out.
“Straight. Huh. Alright then.”
“It’s fine,” I say, even though he didn’t apologize. And even if he had, there’s nothing to apologize for. “I’m totally cool. This isn’t even the first time this hashappened to me.”
“This isn’t the first time another guy has assumed you’re queer and kissed you without asking first?” He says with a humorless laugh, and I shrug.
“Well, no. No one's ever kissed me before, but it’s not the first time I’ve been…propositioned? I guess that’s the term I’m looking for—by another guy. It doesn’t bother me. I’ve been told I just have “one of those personalities”. It's a vibe, or a quality, or something that I give off. I don’t really know what that means, but seriously. It’s fine, El.”
“Got it. Still, I’m sorry. I should’ve asked before I just kissed you like that. That’s not cool for a bunch of reasons?—”
“Seriously, Elliot, I’m not upset. I don’t feel like you took advantage or anything like that. It was a moment, and I…” I trail off, letting my words hang between us. What I meant to say was that I might have done the same thing if I were sitting with a woman I found attractive. But what almost came out of my mouth was…
Ithink I wanted you to kiss me, and I think I liked kissing you back.
But I have no idea where that desire came from. I don’t know why my cock perked up behind the zipper of my jeans when Elliot let out that soft little hum when our lips touched. I can’t remember everbeing so turned on by something as simple as a kiss.
Of course, there's nothing simple about getting horny over another man’s lips on mine.
