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“I got it all planned out,” Alex explained. “My cousin lives in Stockholm. After I graduate, I’ll move to Sweden and room with him while attending uni. After I graduate, I’m going to stay there. This place sucks.”
“You’re going to live in Sweden?” I echoed, stunned. This was so not in our wedding plans. Didn’t he know that?
“Yup.”
“W—why?”
“It’s the western country that’s closest in policy and principles to socialism. I told you, Lara. I’m not down with this,” he waved his hand around, “capitalistic bullshit. I’m not down with how things are. I hate materialistic shit.”
You drive a fucking Volvo, I was tempted to yell in his face.
I was getting pretty sick and tired of all the political mumbo-jumbo. Besides, I had more pressing issues than the alleged decay of post-modern society in the western world. Like the fact that Alex was going to be surrounded by hot Swedish women nonstop in about two years.
Seriously, who actually acted on their principles? Of all the guys in the world, I had to go for the one who held a string of coherent morals I knew very little about and was willing to go far for them. Most guys his age prided themselves in using their armpit to make fart sounds.
“Right on,” I said, because breaking down in a panic attack was a little premature in our relationship. “Sweden sounds like a great place to live.”
Alex parked. I didn’t look to see if everyone was already there. I was busy taking deep breaths and telling myself Alex had two years to change his mind. Everything blurred. I was afraid I was about to cry, but no, maybe it was just my brain shutting down and refusing to accept that he was going to move.
TO ANOTHER MOTHERFUCKING COUNTRY.
“Anyway.” Alex killed the engine, sitting back in seat. “Just to make sure we’re all aligned here—I’m moving to Sweden. No matter what happens. So whatever this is,” he flicked his finger between us, “it’s not a forever thing. We on the same page?”
So many things went through my head in that moment.
I was torn between being devastated, to being confused, to simply being pissed off. As I digested this dumpster fire of emotions, I realized that Alex was, even by his own admission, just a teenager. He was going to change his mind a thousand times. Last month I was just a vegetarian, not a vegan, and the month before it, I had a McDonald’s hamburger with double patties and extra chicken nuggets. Four months ago, I decided I was going to be an Olympic swimmer, despite barely being able to finish a full lap without puking out a lung. We were still kids.
This was not set in stone.
And he was not even a quarter done falling in love with me.
Encouraged, I gave him a quick shrug.
“Dude, you haven’t even kissed me yet. You think I’m expecting an engagement ring or something?”
The answer to that question was yes. I was absolutely expecting an engagement ring. Preferably with a square or oval gemstone. I was never really a diamond kind of girl.
Alex looked genuinely relieved, dragging his large palm over his hair.
“In that case,” he unbuckled his seatbelt, “we’re all set, Honeypie.”
He leaned over and gave me the most perfect kiss I have ever been given.
It was demanding and urgent, yet soft and exploring. Not too aggressive, but a kiss that still let me know that he’d been thinking about it just as much as I had, if not more.
I groaned into his mouth and deepened the kiss, lacing my arms around his neck. Our tongues tangled together. The heat seeping through his body made my bones shiver. The thrill rolling down my spine told me I was in big, big trouble.
I’d kissed boys before, but I always enjoyed the idea of what we were doing, rather than what we were actually doing.
My mind had always been focused on “OMG, I AM KISSING A BOY” and not on “WHOA, THIS IS HOT AF. I WANT MORE”.
For the first time, I enjoyed a kiss for what it was. That’s when the idea of casual sex finally clicked for me. Up until now, sex, and kissing, and everything in-between, were just ways and methods to get the boy in my juvenile mind.
Now? Now I wanted all those things, even if I didn’t get to keep the boy.
When we pulled away, my lips were tender and swollen. His looked like I’d tried to chew them off of his face for hours.
“We should probably go.” I smiled.
Alex scowled. “I don’t even like soccer, and I fucking hate vegan food.”
“Well,” I shrugged, “being you sucks.”
He gave me an appreciative look, dragging his thumb along his lower lip. “I think it’s about to suck a little less.”
Everybody and their mother were already there and waiting when we arrived. We must’ve made out in his car for at least half an hour.
