I hum my enjoyment against his lips, and he pulls away suddenly.
An expression barely shy of shock paints his face. “Sorry. I don’t know what . . .” He drops his hand from me. A chill crosses my skin like a breeze.
“It’s fine, babe,” I tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”Because I’m not.I’m more worried it will never happen again.
The music fades, and the opening bars of the movie’s score begins. Everyone settles into their places on blankets and chairs, and like Liem said, I feel connected with them all, on display as much as the people on the screen, yet alone with Liem, spinning in the uncertainty of what just happened between us.
That kiss meant something. It wasn’t a closed-mouth peck like friends who may or may not being doing too much in the club one night and figurewhy not?Liemkissedme. And I fear it may have been the best kiss of my life.
We sit shoulder to shoulder, our arms crisscrossed when we lean back onto our hands. He hasn’t said anything since his apology, pretending he’s consumed by the movie and hasn’t been glancing over to check on me every minute.
“Stop it,” I whisper to him. “Friends kiss sometimes, it’s normal.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Relax. Enjoy the movie.” I bump my shoulder against his arm. Finally, his smile returns.
He looks back to the screen, but I can’t stop looking at him. Friendsdokiss sometimes. But not likethat.
Fifteen
Liem
Going to the wine bar felt like a walk of shame after what happened in the park. The place is as perfect for me as the rest of our day has been. Buzzing, bougie, our booth open yet positioned back-to-back with the others, giving us our own space while letting us see all the other possibilities. Space to breathe while I spiral over what I’ve done.
Kissing her felt as natural as squinting in the sun or scratching an itch. I was happy, thankful, and she was there, right in reach. All night, she wanted to show me a good time, give me reasons to enjoy myself, and all it did was pull me closer to her. Then shewasclose. Then I . . .
Bri comes back with our third round of drinks, and I can barely look her in the eyes. My cheeks haven’t cooled since the movie started, and the alcohol isn’t helping. I’m grateful for the dim lighting.
“Your libation, sir,” she says, a giggle following.
The bar is a quirky mix of a Harlem Renaissance speakeasy andmodern, millennial minimalism. Flat booths with dark gray cushions, art deco lamps dangling over each table. We’ve been going a little harder on the drinks than we usually do, crossing our cocktails and wine. After this round, maybe my sorrows will have enough liquid to drown in.
“Where was I?” she asks. Our empty glasses interrupted the story she had been telling me.
“Keisha let the guy into your dorm, and he fell asleep in your bed.”
“Right! Fuck, it was so awkward trying to wake him up.”
While she talks, my eyes trace over her face. I love the errant curl that escapes the hair tie holding the impressive volume of its friends, the other half loose, tickling the top of her shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face as if it’s the dark background of a stage meant only for those two perfect lips to captivate an audience. I fixate on the way they move with every syllable, remembering how they taste even sweeter than she smells.
I hate that I kissed her like that—crossing a line I thought we had established from the start. More than that, I hate that all I can think about is kissing her again.
“Forgive me for sounding old and crotchety, but I really hate when people film content in places as if no one else is around.”
The flashlight on two of their phones cuts through the ambiance like a lighthouse warning us of an influencer shore. After posing, they turn around, tugging on the bookshelf until it swings open, a blue glow spilling out. The group goes through, the bookcase closing behind them. Bri and I look at each other with the same question scrawled on our faces.
“What is that?” I ask for us both.
“Let’s find out.”
None of the bartenders bat an eye when we walk up to thebookcase and mimic the others, prying it open to the blue-lit fantasy land hiding behind it.
Inside is not what I expected. The same lighting as a club, people dancing as if standing in front of a DJ, though the only sounds are shuffling feet. A worker standing at a table holds out a set of headphones to us, saying nothing. Bri looks at me for an explanation, and all I have for her is a shrug. We put the headphones on, and house music fills my ears, matching the rhythm of the gyrating strangers filling the quiet room.
Then I piece it together. This is a silent rave.
The lights are an undulating swirl of blue and green, painting the room in an ethereal glow, like sunlight shining through water. In the crowd, everyone dances to a synchronized yet private music experience. I sway back and forth with the beat, getting lost in the music, the bass thrumming through my veins right alongside the alcohol.
