Chapter 13: Lucy

 

 

I’d never wanted sleep to overwhelm me more in my whole life.

But every time I tried to squeeze my eyes shut, I saw him making that face at me, that face I’d wanted him to make at me for over ten years followed by a kiss I was convinced was never coming.

But it came, and it was amazing.

And yet, it wasn’t the kiss I wanted.

I wanted a rough kiss, a sloppy kiss, a drunken, slobbery kiss, but I couldn’t use any of those words to describe the kiss he’d planted on me. I wanted the kind of kiss that I could laugh off or tease him over, a kiss I could make light of.

A kiss that wouldn’t haunt me and keep me awake at night.

Instead, I got a gentle kiss, one that was deliberate, intentional, almost choreographed in its perfection. And as hard as I tried, I couldn’t find anything funny about it.

On the contrary, he was dead serious. He might’ve been drunk, but he knew what he was doing. He’d even had an out after he made that stupid face the first time. That was his chance to cop on and get a hold of himself.

But he was so fucking stubborn. He must’ve gotten the idea in his head and been unable to let go of it. And it was really freaking me out.

Where the hell did he learn to kiss like that?

For years, I’d been convincing myself that we were too good of friends for there to be anything more. But when he kissed me, it was like I didn’t even know him, like he became this mysterious hunk with nothing but secrets. For that brief moment, he wasn’t the cocky kid with the trampoline down the street. He was a goddamn kissing machine, and the thought of cooties never even crossed my mind.

Actually, nothing crossed my mind.

Once he laid his lips on mine, everything went blank. The whole world disappeared except for his hands on my cheek and my waist and his boozy wet tongue in my mouth.

In fact, I was rendered so incapable of thinking, I got totally swept up in the moment and kissed him back. And I can only assume it was the best damn kiss I’ve gotten in a while because it was the first time in a long time I wasn’t analyzing it while it was happening.

Normally, I had all kinds of thoughts like why can I feel your teeth? Or slow down there partner. Or please don’t splash around like that. Or I wonder if I remembered to record Raising Hope?

But when Aiden kissed me, it was just white noise and heat and energy and shock. And I felt like I hadn’t been able to breathe since I ran away.

However, in the back of my mind, I knew chances were that he was just drunk and horny and confused, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

After all, we had a friendship that was too great to risk, a shared history that was uniquely our own. Plus, I was supposed to be a friend to him tonight. I was supposed to be a shoulder to lean on post break up, not quick on the scene and eager to take advantage.

Then again, maybe I had it all wrong. Clearly he’d been willing to throw away everything we had for one night of fun.

But that didn’t mean I could. Even if he could keep sex separate from our friendship- which seemed unlikely- I was going to be the one that got hurt in the end.

It would be just like all the other times I thought something was going to happen between us, except it would hurt so much more because this time I would know what I was missing.

And I could tell by the way he kissed that there would be nothing funny about the way he fucked.

Thank god he reached for my shirt so I caught myself.

Cause at the end of the day, even if I could believe that we could have casual sex, I would never feel casual about him seeing me naked. Not because I was particularly self-conscious, but because of my scars.

He wouldn’t buy my barbed wire story. There’s no way something like that could’ve gotten past him, and I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. There was nothing I hated more than being pitied by someone without my consent. My late teens were completely overrun with people pitying me for not having a Mom, and I never asked for their sympathy, their sad eyes, their pats on the back.

My Mom was sick. It’s not like she abandoned me. Fucking god abandoned her.

The point is, if Aiden pitied me for even a second when he realized the truth, if I saw so much as a flash of sympathy in his eyes, it would kill me.

After all, he’d always thought I was strong and tough, and I’d lost track of how many times his belief in me was enough to make me believe in myself.

No one night stand was worth losing his respect and admiration. No kiss was worth ruining how he looked at me.

I sat up and reached for the glass of water next to my bed and drained it, desperate to sober up and calm my racing mind.

I just wanted to sleep.

But a fear was building up inside me, and that fear was that I would never be able to forget the way it felt to have him hold me like that, how it felt to be overwhelmed by his touch.

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have left.

If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be so confused.

If it were anyone else, I would be lying here thinking about how soon I could do it again.

And worst of all, even if I could put the whole thing out of my mind, that was only half the battle.

Cause I still wouldn’t know what the heck he was thinking.

Or what he thought about the fact that I freaked out?

Was he angry? Relieved?

Did he think I did the right thing?

How far would he have gone with me?

All the way?

Could I seriously believe that after all these years of our physical contact never escalating past playful tickling and aggressive arm wrestling that he would stick his… oh my god I couldn’t even say it much less think about it.

And then just like that, it was too late, and I was thinking about it.

What would it be like to be naked with my best friend?

To have him kiss me in places he was never meant to see?

To have the weight of his body rocking over me, filling me up?

For him to hear the noises I made when I was overcome by pleasure?

Was he really ready for all that?

Or was he just drunk and curious to see what he could get away with?

Because for fifteen years, I’d always craved more time with him, but maybe time wasn’t the only thing he wanted with me.

And that thought alone was the most exhilarating, terrifying prospect of all.

What if he wasn’t sorry? What if he’d meant that kiss to feel exactly how it felt- crazy, unhinged, and delicious in its inappropriateness.

What if he was lying awake now, too, and nothing would ever be the same?