Rafael laughs warmly. “Yeah we did. And you, my dear friend, are very good at sucking cock.”
We both laugh. His lips are puffy, and his hair is messy. He leans up on his elbows, and I notice my initials, tattooed onto his arm.
An avalanche of desire crushes me. I start to lose myself in the familiar pining. I love Rafael, and even this close, it aches to know we won’t be together forever.
Even when I have him, I don’t.
Before the longing overtakes me, though, he squeezes my thigh. “I got an idea.”
“Another one?” I say with slight alarm, and we both laugh.
“I’ll heat up those leftovers, and we can watch the turtle documentary tonight.”
“Oh.” I laugh. “Yeah, actually. That sounds perfect.”
Rafael pats my leg and stands. “Stay right here, sexy. I’ll get waters.”
Sexy. Whoa.
I sit there, naked in the living room and still a bit stunned. I just did something that I’ve wanted for years. I can still feel him on my body.
Madame President meows upstairs, and a second later, Rafael turns Fiona Apple on the kitchen again. It’s just like normal, and why shouldn’t it be?
Except this isn’t normal. We just had sex, and Rafael might be the kind of person who is capable of having sex with his best friend and acting chill, but now it’s a lot harder to convince myself that I’m capable of that, too.
Because right now, my head hazy in a post-orgasmic daze, I know that I’ve never been in love with Rafael more.
CHAPTERNINE
ALEXANDER
I wakeup at five in the morning. It’s still dark and quiet outside, but the second I open my eyes, I’m totally conscious.
Rafael and I hooked up last night. It’s my first and only thought.
He fell asleep on the couch while we watched the movie. I tried to wake him and then gave up and tucked him in there instead. When I creep out of my bedroom, he’s still on the couch, sprawled out on his back, one hand dangling to the floor while Madame President snoozes at his feet. In my pajama pants and T-shirt, I stand in the living room for a second, staring at his beautiful face and listening to his soft grunts.
We hooked up last night, and we’re going to do it again.
Because I’m me, my brain starts whirring with practical questions, attempts to shut down the anxieties that might otherwise rise up in their place. We’ve crossed a line and started playing with fire, and the reality of my emotions means that we could actually screw this up, if we aren’t careful. So even though dorky questions about hookup etiquette and practical considerations won’t truly keep us from falling into disaster, it still helps my brain to write it all down.
First, I make myself some coffee and eat a little bowl of yogurt and granola; then I sit at the kitchen table and find a blank page in my notebook. While the sun slowly begins to rise, gray light shining through the window, I write an orderly list.
There are just too many logistics involved in sleeping with your best friend, especially when you’re secretly and painfully in love with him.
I consider whether or not it’s still unrequited love if you and the other person are having sex. Most likely, I decide.
But then Rafael steps into the kitchen. He yawns and leans down, then kisses me on the cheek. My heart flutters. He’s still in his boxers and T-shirt from last night, and his eyes are only partially open behind his glasses, and my longing rises up just as strong as ever.
“Morning,” he says.
“Morning.”
He wanders over to the counter to fuss with breakfast, and it almost is like a normal morning. We talk about the turtle documentary and this one turtle that we both agree had a bad attitude. He eats toast with jam, and I drink more coffee, and once Rafael wakes up enough, he draws tattoos in his sketchbook while we talk.
“That was fun last night,” Rafael says out of nowhere, his voice steady and low and his eyes on his drawing. “You still want to do it again sometime?”
I’m caught off guard by the question. He tosses it out so easily and casually. It’s another reminder that he’s so much more experienced at this casual thing than I am and that us hooking up doesn’t mean the same thing to him as it does to me.
