Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87392 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 437(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
That was a few days ago. And now for the rest of the week, in every free moment, my brain had been doing cartwheels and backflips trying to figure out what the hell Mitch’s intentions were with kissing me.
Everything seemed so easy for him. He was content to kiss me and just let a kiss be a kiss. I wanted to be that way, but I fucking wasn’t.
I was masturbating to the thought of him every night. Dreaming of his tongue. Wondering what the fuck it meant that he was suddenly okay with kissing me.
I knew I had to talk to him about it, or I would explode.
I pulled out my phone, shooting him a quick text.
>>Evan: When does your shift end tomorrow night?
>>Mitch: Midnight. And you need to get your ass to the bar and see all the cocktails I know how to make now.
I pulled in a long breath.
>>Evan: Okay. I’ll come and hang out until your shift ends. Then can we talk about some stuff?
His next text message took a little longer, and I already wondered if I’d freaked him out by saying the “t-word.” A lot of dudes didn’t like it when you said you wanted to talk. Luckily, he responded by the end of my lunch period, though.
>>Mitch: You can always talk to me, weirdo. Love you.
Fuck. Nothing bothered Mitch. And that was what I loved about him, too.
Another text message came through a minute later, and my heart leapt when I read it.
>>Mitch: But if it’s about the kiss, I don’t regret it.
>>Mitch: I wouldn’t mind kissing you more, actually. Just sayin’.
Holy hot jock in a handbasket.
That hadn’t been what I’d expected him to say.
And somehow, even though I knew Mitch was trying to make me feel better by saying it, it only skyrocketed my anxiety through the roof. When my next class came in, I kept stumbling over my words, writing the wrong things on the whiteboard, and practically tripping over my own feet.
Mitch wouldn’t mind kissing me more. His text message had been so casual, like he was talking about how he “wouldn’t mind” a second helping of dinner, or “wouldn’t mind” going to a movie. Like he had no clue how he was cracking open a box I had buried deep underground years ago.
Having Mitchell tell me he wanted to kiss me more turned me on so intensely that I jerked off three times later that night, pent up and desperate and needing him so fucking badly. I texted him back a measly “haha” message and told him I’d see him tomorrow night.
8
Mitch
What does it mean when throughout your shift, all you can think about is when you’ll get to kiss your best friend again?
Sub-question: is it possible to be addicted to somebody’s lips?
Asking for a friend.
“One Slithery Snake and one standard Cosmo,” I said, sliding the two cocktails across the bar at the two young men. One of them snatched the Cosmo right away, bringing it to his lips.
“Was this made with Absolut vodka or the cheap stuff?” he asked.
“Shoot,” I muttered. I knew there had been some modification the guy had asked for, but when I’d been making the drinks, I’d been on total autopilot. Tonight was my first night without training wheels—all week, Grace and Red had been staying at my side, helping me with every order, but today they’d cut me loose.
I also was dimly aware the entire night that at some point, Evan was going to be stopping in. I had wanted to see him all week. The last time we were together, I hadn't been able to keep my mouth off of his. On pure impulse. And it felt amazing, shockingly. I was starting to wonder why best bros didn’t kiss each other more often.
I would have kissed him a lot more if Red hadn’t come out that night and given us each a ride home. Tonight, it felt strange to have butterflies in my stomach waiting for my best friend to show up at the bar, but I did.
I couldn’t wait to see his face. And maybe kiss it again, if he let me.
But all night, I’d been barely staying afloat at the bar. Grace was watching me from the other side of the bar. I knew she was silently cheering for me, but she wasn’t going to step in. She was letting me learn the hard way.
“And… I thought the Slithery Snake was supposed to have lime?” the other guy asked.
Shit. It totally was. I had forgotten the citrus altogether.
“I’m so sorry, gentlemen,” I said, reaching out to take their glasses. “I’ll remake your drinks.”
“Sweet,” the Cosmo guy said.
The other guy looked a little more sympathetic. “The drink is good! I wouldn’t mind a slice of lime, though, if you’ve got it ready.”
He gave me a warm smile as I got him some slices on a little dish. I remade the Cosmopolitan with Absolut, and the two of them were finally taken care of.