I’ve surprised him too. His features soften, pleased. “That’s new,” he says.
Not at all, I almost say, but I catch myself at the last moment. I hurry from the subject. “And I know,” I say. “About…” I trail off, unsure how to frame it, but he catches on.
“Ah,” he says. He sips his drink. “I figured.” He shifts toward the banister and speaks to the air. “They were my friends once,” he says. “Close friends. I miss that. I guess I’m still not used to this version of our relationship.”
I’m not sure how to reply. I’ve entered their lives as Kush has exited, and that’s an odd role to be in. I settle for closing the gap between us, so our sides are nearly touching, forearms resting beside each other on the railing. I scan for something lighter to say.
“I’m glad you didn’t get a mullet,” I say.
A smile starts. He turns his head to meet my gaze, blinking back when he takes in how close we are. But he doesn’t move away. “Good,” he says.
The proximity and eye contact together is overstimulating. I resort to babbling, as I always do when nerves spark. “Yeah,” I say. “I like the—” I gesture to a loose curl that falls underneath his brow bone. “It’s a nice one—” I break off. He looks bemused, not comprehending. “The style, I mean,” I say. My cheeks flush, feeling the need to make myself clear. I reach up to grasp the strand with my thumb and forefinger, and he stills at the touch. “This,” I say stupidly.
Even in my intoxicated state, it’s an out-of-body experience to discover I am holding a piece of Kush’s hair, an unprompted and objectively ridiculous thing to do. Embarrassment sweeps through me, and I should drop my hand, but he’s turned motionless, so any movement from my end also feels impermissible.
I can’t pin down exactly when the energy shifts, but at some point, his confused stillness gives way to something heady and unreadable. I relax my hand, so it rests at his shoulder, fingers still lost in his hair.
“What are you doing, Rani?” he asks. The words are mild, but his eyes give him away, gaze wary yet filled with want. The understanding sends a rush through me, intensified by the sudden knowledge of my reciprocation.
“Just,” I start. I swallow. He’s close enough that I could count his lashes if I wanted to. He swallows too, and I follow the movement in his throat. “Your hair looks nice.”
The compliment comes out like an invitation, and he’s not saying no. Almost out of curiosity, hardly believing it myself, I lean up, and then we are kissing.
The first kiss is gentle, explorative, a question—is this okay?There’s a beat of hesitation, but before I can withdraw, he’s telling me yes, again and again, by the way he kisses me back. His mouth melts into mine, hands skimming my hair, my hips, my sides.
He presses me against the railing, and for a second, we separate. I see his eyes flash, lips parting as if to say something. I kiss him again to cut him off. The last thing I want is the emergence of driving instructor Kush, telling me what’s best and what’s not. I’m in charge of this moment.
His mouth dips to my neck, and I almost gasp at the sensation.His thumb grazes my waist as he kisses a trail up to my jaw. My skin still tingles, electric, when his lips at last find mine again. I can taste the rum and Coke on his tongue.
We break away abruptly at the sound of a shattering crash from the party. From the noise, it appears the disco ball piñata has been successfully burst open, and cheers and shouts resound inside. Kush and I stare at each other, breathing fast, eyes wide and stunned.
He interrupts the silence first. “Rani—” he starts.
What just happened?My hands find my lips, still tender and stung from his kiss. Awareness of the last few minutes washes over me, sobering me up fast. “Oh,God,” I say, and I’m pushing past him, hurrying back into the party.
Chapter Twenty
I say a silent prayer as I remove the cold compress from my neck, movements shaky and panicked. I peer into the mirror and immediately groan. A splotchy purple bruise still blooms along the skin.
Reaching for my phone, I close out of the openCosmoarticle, an increasingly ridiculous list titled “How to Get Rid of a Hickey: 12 Easy Hacks That Actually Work!” Number six recommends the consumption of fresh pineapple. I should have known the tips were doomed to fail.
I take a mirror selfie and send it to Simran with the caption,SOS. Her reply is instantaneous:sorry is he a VAMPIRE??
My phone buzzes with an incoming video call, and I swipe up to accept.
“It’s like you got with Edward Cullen himself,” Simran says, eyes bright with laughter.
“What the fuck do I do,” I say hoarsely.
“Turtleneck,” Simran says.
“It’sJuly,” I say. “And I meant about Kush.” Memories from the night before rise unbidden in my mind, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “How could I let this happen?”
At a party hosted by Kush’s former friend group, and my very first friends at UW, no less. A shudder goes through me at the thought of Michael and company discovering my transgression. Zara’s iciness toward Kush last night made clear how unforgivable association with him is. I have to fight the urge to curl into a ball and never rise from the ground.
“I’m not drinking again,” I blurt. “Ever. I am so stupid when I’m drunk.”
“And horny,” Simran adds, enjoying herself a little too much.
