I’m hard, and when Rafael rolls closer against me, my erection rides up against him. He’s stiff, too—I feel him—and we push against each other for just a half of a breath before we each pull back at the same time, like snapping awake from a dream.
Fuck. Oh fuck.
I let out a shuddered breath. What even just happened?
Rafael has a surprised look on his face. He blinks at me, and I see that his lips are a little puffy. Then he fixes his glasses and chuckles.
“Yeah, Alexander,” he says. “I think you know how to kiss just fine.”
I laugh and look away, suddenly embarrassed. Was that all me? Had I gotten too enthusiastic? My head is spinning, and I’m overwhelmed, but because I’m with my best friend, the only reaction I can manage is to just start laughing, letting out a stream of little giggles as we sit with our legs touching.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my hand over my mouth. “I don’t know why I’m laughing.”
Rafael laughs along with me. “Because you’re weird and perfect,” he says, then stands and grabs his T-shirt. “And a very good kisser. You seriously don’t have a thing to worry about. I’m going to make us dinner.”
“Okay,” I somehow manage to answer, then rub my forehead. When Rafael leaves the room, I fall back against the floor, dazed.
I’ve never kissed anyone like I just kissed my best friend.
CHAPTERSIX
RAFAEL
The next morning,I’m in a strange mood, even for me.
I’m not sure what’s up. Just that I’m kind of giggly when I play with Madame President, and that when Alexander gets to the kitchen, I can’t get settled. We talk over our breakfast, and I spend the whole time sketching on the envelopes our bills arrived in. He’s smiley, too, and we both bounce around and clean the kitchen together the second we’re done eating.
When Alexander leaves for the library, I collapse on the couch, suddenly exhausted.
I touch my lips, then sit there, staring at the wall with my finger on my mouth.
Kissing Alexander was… nice. That seems obvious. He’s so damn cute, and I already know his lips are soft. I meant it when I told him that I was sure he was a good kisser. In typical Alexander style, he just needs to get all awkward and cute for a minute first; then he can relax.
Any guy who doesn’t understand how sexy that is doesn’t deserve him in the first place.
I just hadn’t quite expected the kiss to affect me the way it did. It was like one second I was kissing Alexander, touching his cheek to encourage him to relax, and then something ignited. I tasted him, and he teased me, our tongues meeting slowly, him licking my teeth. A flare of desire rose up my spine, and the kiss became more.
A quiver goes through me as I stretch out on the couch. Alexander is hot, and so kissing him is hot. There shouldn’t be anything mysterious about it.
Memories reel through me, coming back in flashes. The first time I showed him my collection of vintage illustrations, culled from magazines and comics and postcards, and how he’d immediately started devising a scheme to organize it all. The fall when I got obsessed with drawing trees, and he’d spent the weekends driving around the woods with me, looking for the perfect model. And all the guest lectures at local libraries, community roundtables, the neighborhood historical societies I’d gone to because Alexander had been so enthusiastic, I figured, why not? I always have a good time with him.
I push all the memories away. There’s a tickle in my chest, and I feel unsettled again, funny.
Anyway, Alexander is my best friend. If a little kiss can boost his confidence and actually get him out there dating, great, I don’t need to overthink it.
I grab my phone from the coffee table. I suddenly feel really, really horny. There’s a solution to that, but my thumb hovers over Grindr, and I don’t press it.
My philosophy on sex is pretty set in stone at this point. When I did try to date, everyone seemed to want things I’m not interested in. The guys I saw expected commitments from me that I wasn’t capable of making, and they all seemed to want to change me, too. They expected that I would put my art and my sci-fi novels away and get a “real job,” as though the things I’m serious about aren’t good enough.
I’m not about to change for anyone, but it was like all the guys had this idea of how a boyfriend should act, and they were just trying to find someone who fit into the mold.
Easy, I decided. I’ll stop trying to force myself into relationships that I don’t want anyway and just enjoy hooking up. I skip the stress and find a guy on the apps, hook up for a couple weeks if we like each other, and then part ways. If he’s the kind of guy who wouldn’t like my art or would try to turn me into a meat eater or whatever, I never stick around long enough for it to come up anyway.
Who needs a boyfriend when I’ve got such great friends to hang with?
With a grumble, though, I throw the phone down without opening the app. Grindr just doesn’t feel right today. I’m still tingly and flustered, so I busy myself by rearranging the houseplants instead.
My idea is that they should all get a chance to hang out together and enjoy some quality time, but it’s tricky, because some of them need to be certain spots for the light. It takes me a while to get them all rearranged, but when I put the two matching spider plants in Alexander’s room, it finally all falls into place.
