Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Some of them throw attitude to shut up their dancing hearts.
Some of them sit on you during a movie and refuse to get up.
Some of them ask you every question under the moon on a park bench on a Thursday night in the middle of a deadsville small town instead of the one they want to.
The one they need to.
The one they have to.
Anthony’s face draws closer suddenly, like he can’t stand the wait. I stare back at him silently, my own heart starting to sprint the closer he gets.
His eyes grow even more beautiful in their fear.
His lips, too, parting, ready for it, wanting it.
I say nothing, watching him draw closer.
He stops a mere inch from my face. “Do I … Do I have your … y-your permission?”
My breath catches in my throat.
I think I just realized I need this too, as desperately as he does.
I answer with my lips, pressing them to his.
16
ANTHONY
The first thought in my head is, I’m not drunk enough to be doing this.
Second thought is, I’m not drunk at all.
I can’t blame alcohol.
The third thought: I’ve done this before.
He said “again”. Kiss him—again.
I hadn’t imagined it. It wasn’t a haunting vision. I kissed him on the floor of that church.
I just realized he’s the one who made the move just now. He knew I was too chicken shit, and now he’s giving this to me. He’s letting me kiss him. Bridger, who I was just selling pest control services to this morning. The guy who’s been giving me hell all week. Or is it me who’s been giving him hell?
The only thing he’s giving right now are his lips.
I’m actually surprised by how soft they are. I don’t know why I was expecting sandpaper. The guy clearly takes care of himself, that much is obvious. From the way he dresses to the way he does his hair. Even his skin is flawless. Does he shave every hour to get it that smooth? He probably does, as anal retentive as he is.
Goddamn, no matter how hard I try to distract myself with thoughts, I can’t ignore how good this feels, to kiss him.
Or to let him kiss me.
Or whatever the hell’s happening right now.
This is what I wanted, right? To try this out? I already knew he makes my heart race. I didn’t expect to fall into his lap in the theater, but after he yanked me back and I fell onto him, I froze, and suddenly those guys a few rows ahead of us didn’t matter. The firm, safe, perfect lap of Bridger was all I could think about. Sure, I threw my attention right back to the movie, but damn if I couldn’t have just sat there with his arms around me awhile longer.
But every second that passed made me feel weirder. Like I was stealing something that didn’t belong to me, like I was an imposter sitting on a lap I didn’t deserve to be enjoying so damned much.
Just like this kiss.
I’m not me. I’m someone else right now, locking lips with the bastard who’s been driving me crazy.
What am I doing??
I pull away from him, out of breath—was I holding it?—and look the other way. I can’t move. Can’t think. Everything in my head is flipping upside-down and spinning like a possessed carousel.
The touch of his lips lingers on mine.
He tastes so good, too. Better than lips ought to taste.
When’s the last time I ever even experienced lips that made me feel this way? Was that even real? Did that just happen?
“You alright there?”
I know he asked the question. I can’t seem to make my mouth work. How would I answer it anyway? Am I alright? How the hell do I know if I’m alright? Have I ever been alright? Have I been not alright my whole fucking life and am just now realizing it?
Maybe I haven’t been alright.
Because I’ve been lying to myself, for years and years.
Lying to myself that I didn’t want to be the one Bobby waited for every day at the movie theater instead of Jimmy. And maybe that’s the real reason I provoked them both way back then.
Lying to myself that watching Cole and Noah find happiness recently didn’t also make me feel lonelier. That being part of the bachelor pageant wasn’t just about male bonding, but also feeding a part of myself I think has been starving for years.
Lying to myself about why I really agreed to go out tonight.
With Bridger.
“Anthony …?”
I finally turn back to him. Apparently, I also scooted away, as there’s room on the park bench for two people to sit between us now. “Sorry,” I blurt. “I didn’t mean … to get all weird, or … or …”
“Nothing’s weird,” he assures me.
Damn it, why’s he so patient and good with me suddenly? This is all so much easier when we’re being pricks to each other.