He moves me around the pool. People stare up from pool chairs, and I send them an awkward smile.
Florian dips me. His arm is steady under my back, and the skyscraper-filled sky tilts, and I can no longer think about my embarrassment, no longerthink about the people staring at us, no longer think about anything except him.
My heart beats faster than is appropriate for mild aerobic activity. I stare into his eyes, then he smirks, and spins me around and around and around. The music continues to play. Boston’s buildings whirl around us, tall glinting skyscrapers.
Murmurs sound. Everyone is watching. But Florian is fine with that. His hand is warm against mine, and I stumble over my feet as Florian maneuvers me this way and that.
The song ends, and people clap.
“Kiss!” someone shouts.
Then more people shout.
Florian’s cheeks redden. He’s thinking about the fact that I told him that we couldn’t kiss.
But maybe…
I don’t like the way pink stains his skin now.
“We could,” I whisper.
He smiles.
I move my lips toward him, then I capture his lips with my own. He gives a delighted gasp, and then we are kissing.
This isn’t my first kiss. I know my way around an app. But this is a good first kiss. His lips move uncertainly around my own, and I am reminded of the fact this man has never kissed another man before.
Guilt moves through me, and I start to step away, but he whines. His grip on the back of my t-shirt tightens, and I narrow the distance between us again.
This time I move my tongue against his own.
More clapping sounds, and it occurs to me that perhaps we don’t want to dance around the pool, then make out in public. Florian must have the same idea, because we break away at the same time.
His eyes are soft as they regard me.
I shouldn’t have let him kiss me. I shouldn’t have.
Some day he will want to kiss someone for real. Somedayhe will be standing across from an investment banker or a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist and he’ll want to kiss him. I’ll have stolen his first kiss.
“Are you okay?” Florian asks.
His voice is worried, and I hate it.
I’ve stolen a first from him, and he’s making sure that my well-being is okay. He is kind and considerate. He is a gentleman, the kind found in old movies and the sort of bars that play Sinatra. He should be with a tuxedoed man. They can adjust each other’s bowties and help each other put on platinum cufflinks.
Florian shouldn’t be with a man wearing a bright t-shirt and sweatpants.
His forehead furrows. “Did I do it wrong?”
My eyes widen. He must be thinking about the kiss, because his dance was amazing. And his kiss for that matter was also amazing.
“It was wonderful,” I tell him.
He glances at me uncertainly.
“You take my breath away,” I admit.
“Oh.” He sighs. “It must be strange to be with someone who doesn’t remember our past.”
