CHAPTER 25
ISWING INTO A PARKINGspace on Main Street right outside the Dinor and make a beeline for the double swinging doors of the kitchen. As soon as I step through, it feels like a different place altogether. The wood floors turn into tan tile with dark grout. The quiet of the dining room instantly turns to pans clanging in the wash sink, fans venting smoke off the flattop, the cook’s laugh booming across the kitchen. But I shut all of that out until I find him.
Ryan.
He’s standing there looking at me, a plate ready to be served in each of his hands. I feel like I’m going to pass out, but I move toward him anyway, ignoring how suddenly silent it’s gotten.
This is it. The moment I’ve been so scared of for the past few weeks. The moment that’s going to fill my chest with air and prove that I’m not… like her.
I plant my right hand on his side and slide my left hand along his jaw until my fingers reach his silky black hair.
“Stevie, what are you—”
I start leaning into him, and I don’t stop until my lips are pressed up against his. I stand up on my tippy-toes while his hands stay outstretched to the sides as he tries to keep the plates balanced.
I step in closer to him, press harder, hoping,waitingfor that feeling.
It has to come.
But it won’t.
“Stevie,” he tries to say as he leans his head away, his brown eyes looking at me horrified. The exact opposite of what you want to see from the person you just kissed. I step back, finally looking around at his coworkers, who have all stopped what they’re doing to stare at me.
“Uh, Ryan, why don’t you take a break, man,” the cook says, flicking his spatula toward a red exit sign glowing above a dented metal door.
Ryan sets the plates down and takes my hand. Then he leads me outside, next to the dumpsters, where the fan is blowing hot, smoky air up into the sky.
Okay, it must’ve just been weird because everyone was watching. I throw myself at him again, but he holds me back, away from him.
“Stevie, wait, what are you doing? What’s wrong?” he asks, confused.
I wrap my hands around his bony arms and look up at him, trying to sound as genuine as possible. “I just… like you. Okay? I likeyou,” I tell him.
“I—I like you, too,” he replies. “Maybe, like, we can kiss a little slower and… not in front of my coworkers.” He huffs out a laugh, but then his eyes soften and he’s tilting his head toward me.
I let him kiss me this time.
As our lips meet and his arms wrap around me, I try toignore that he smells like onions and burger grease. I try to ignore the way his spiky upper lip makes me curl mine. I try to ignore how… wrong all of this feels.
Because now I know what a kiss is supposed to feel like and that scares the shit out of me.
My breathing hitches and I pull my lips off his as I stumble across the alley to lean on the opposite building.
“Stevie, please just talk to me,” he says from behind me. “What is going on?”
“Do you like me?” I ask, unable to look at him.
He stutters for a while. “Wh-what? Yeah.”
“What’s it feel like?” I ask, my throat aching with every word.
“It feels… good. I mean, I don’t know.” I can hear him step off the curb, coming toward me.
“No, Ryan.” I meet his eyes as his face searches mine for answers. “I mean, what does itfeellike when you’re with me?” I ask.
I remember the way it felt just sitting on the curb outside the coffee shop with Nora. Like just being near her calmed me down somehow.
“When you’re close to me?”
