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The thought makes my nipples pebble, and my breath come in short pants. It's been way too long since I've gotten laid. I've been focused on school. I can't believe I'm getting turned on watching him put a joint out.
“I’m in business now,” he answers and glances up at the TV. His eyes stay focused on it even though we both know he’s not watching it.
Awkward. Did I ask the wrong question?
This time he takes a deep breath, rolling the blunt between his fingers absent-mindedly as I wonder what's going on in his head.
After a minute he huffs a short chuckle and asks, “Do you remember all of those notes we used to pass back and forth?”
A small laugh sneaks out from my lips and a blush warms my cheeks. I bite my bottom lip, stifling my smile and remembering free period. “I do. And all of those doodles you’d draw.” I can feel the grin grow on my face. I can’t help it. “I especially liked the ones of Mr. Clinko. Remember how mad he’d get when everyone would continue to talk after he told us to quiet down?”
“And that vein in his neck would start popping out. Good times,” he says, leaning back and tapping his fingers against the armrest. Him bringing that up soothes so much of the anxiety running through me. Or maybe it’s just the memory.
“We did have fun.” I give him a shy smile as I add, “You always distracted me from whatever I was supposed to be studying.”
He nods his head slightly, the trace of a smile still on his lips, and the conversation ends there. I sit silently beside him, not wanting to bring up what happened between us, or how things ended.
I pull my legs up and sit cross-legged. I should apologize. I know I should.
Out of the corner of my eye I see him run his hands through his thick dark hair. He used to do that when he was nervous or stressed.
He takes a deep breath and asks, “So what do you do for fun now?”
I laugh nervously. “Take a nap, or just veg out with Netflix. I'm pretty boring.”But you already know that.
He laughs with me. “You always were a good girl. Never wanting to go out and party.” Slowly, a grin spreads across his lips as he says, “Except for those couple of times at Lookout Hill.”
“Well, if I remember correctly, I was coerced,” I flirt back. Lookout Hill is where we first made out. Where I first felthim. It was the only place we had complete privacy. Where we could do whatever we wanted.
“Oh really? You seemed pretty willing,” he retaliates.
“Me? No! I never did anything that would get me into trouble.” I can’t look him in the eyes as I say that. I know I let him get farther than anyone else did. More than a few times, I was the one pushing. He never took advantage of me though. He never pushed me to do more than I wanted. The memory makes my heart clench.
“Well, why don't we change that?” he asks with his voice low and full of lust.
Fuck, this is bad. I know this is going to end with my regretting whatever happens. I hesitate to answer.
A deep, low chuckle fills the room and pulls me out of my inner panic.
“Relax, Emma,” he says as he holds out the half-smoked blunt. “I was thinking along the lines of taking a hit. Just try it. It’ll help you relax.”
I've never smoked before. I'll probably choke and make a fool of myself. I know all the reasons I shouldn’t smoke. I have a fucking speech memorized to tell the kids who get caught with it.
I'm chewing on my bottom lip again while he stares at me with those pale blue eyes.
“Hey,” he says as he leans over and tugs my bottom lip free from my teeth with his thumb. “Trust me, it’ll be okay.” He’s so close, too fucking close. The leather sofa groans as he runs the rough pad of his thumb along my bottom lip. He’s telling me it’ll be okay, but he doesn’t realize what this means to me.
I can’t move. I can’t breathe. He’s staring at my lips, and I want him to kiss me. But he doesn’t. Instead he moves away from me, and I instantly miss his touch.
I’d do anything to get it back.
I’m going to do bad things tonight. I can feel it. But it'll be withhim.
And I really fucking want to. All those reasons I shouldn’t smoke go right out the window.
My eyes meet his. “I've never smoked before. I don't know how to,” I confess nervously.
He shrugs casually, lighting the blunt and suggests, “Just shotgun it?”
