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The sun was almost entirely set, with only a sliver dancing above the horizon. The colors lit up the sky, creating an orange-y glow. Even with the sun nearly tucked out of sight, it was hot, warm enough that even in my short sleeves, I quickly missed the AC of the alley.
Okay, Ava, it’s time to get a grip. I pressed my palms into my cheeks, forcing my lips to pucker. Seeing Reed with a girl wasn’t anything new, but these sticky feelings were. I was in quicksand, struggling to get free only to sink further.
If I had known kissing Reed would send my thoughts and feelings into a tailspin, I never would’ve done it. Or I would’ve stopped after the four-second mark, where it was still a casual peck. Because yes, that part of the kiss wasnice, but I would’ve stopped thinking about it after a day. I would’ve thought “hmm, wow, what a normal first kiss.” I would’ve thought “yeah, I guess that’s kind of what I expected it to be.”
But the innocent kiss it’d started out as had transformed into something that contained more pressure, more hands, more tongue—hello, merry-go-round memory.
Kissable Josh. If I kissed him like I’d kissed Reed, would it elicit the same feelings? Probably. I mean, before Monday night, I’d never,everthought of Reed that way. I could appreciate his football player body, sure, but it never stirred butterflies before. So, if I kissed Josh…would it be the same?
I didn’t really know Josh—aside from the fact that he was five-nine and had two dogs—but he was already a better choice. He had Rachel’s stamp of approval. He wasn’t going to homecoming with someone else. He wasn’t a player. Best of all, he wasn’t Rachel’s twin. Major points there.
And besides, I didn’twantto be feeling this. I’d just wanted my first kiss, not the strings attached.
“Is the reception better out here?”
Reed had silently approached during my lip-lock-related spiral, and I didn’t notice him until he stood a few feet away. Though he had his hands in his jeans’ pockets, attempting a look of cool-boy nonchalance, his expression was uncertain, like he might turn around and hightail it inside any second.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn’t get it. “Reception?”
“For your phone.” Reed gave a half-hearted chuckle. “It was a joke, Paparazzi.”
“Oh—I needed air.” It was a crappy lie. There was certainly less oxygen out here than there was inside—the sweltering heat had absorbed it all. Apparently, though, my brain cells went along with it. “I’ll be inside in a sec.”
Reed cast a glance over at the group that smoked by the door. “I’ll stand with you.”
“What, you think they’re going to bother me?” They hardly even batted an eye when I walked out, probably because my height—a squat five-two—and Brentwood High mathletes tee—curtesy of Maisie Matthews circa two years ago—stuck me obviously in theunderagecategory. I lifted my fists. “I think I’ll be okay with these bad boys.”
Reed put his warm hands over mine and lowered them. “I don’t think your toddler-sized knuckles are something to brag about.”
Narrowing my eyes, I punched him in the shoulder, hard enough for him to sway back on his heels.
Despite the slug, he smirked. “Was I supposed to feel that?”
I went to hit him again, to pack all my power into it, but he caught my fist. And held it. His palm was warmer than my knuckles, and the heat felt like it traveled all the way up my arm to pump into my heart. His fingers were calloused from the near decade of playing football, and his thumb trailed along my skin. Despite the summer sun, goosebumps rose on the back of my neck. “Has Kissable Josh texted yet?”
I ripped my hand away from his, scowling. “Don’t call him that.”
“Why not? I thought he wasperfectly kissable.”
The two words were more than mimicking mine from after school—they were infused with enough scorn that it made my ears pink. So, hehadbeen listening. “It’s none of your business, either way.”
“It’s ironic thatyou’resaying that.” The way he looked at me made me want to squirm. “Hey, I’m all for your interest in him. He seems more your speed.”
Now I really wanted to hit him again. I curled my fingers, still able to feel the tingle of his skin against mine. “Did you ask Cindy to homecoming yet?”
“Why? Waiting to post a Babble article?” I braced myself as Reed took a step closer, close enough that his silhouette mixed with mine on the sidewalk. His eyes softened. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about you posting about people’s private lives. You don’t post hateful things.”
“What, did you read my blog or something?”
“Yes.”
Back up the truck, he went through my blog? I tried to imagine Reed opening up Brentwood Babble, reading throughmyarticles. It was stupid—the idea of hundreds of Brentwood students reading my writing wasn’t embarrassing, but Reed? It felt…different.
“You’re a good writer, you know. You do a good job at making your blog posts feel exciting. And the fact that everyone follows your blog proves it.”
“Oh, I know,” I said, lifting my chin, fighting tonotlet his compliment get to me.Heel, butterflies, heel. “See, I told you it wasn’t as bad as you made it out to be. You should’ve listened to me.”
“Last time I listened to you, I ended up kissing you.”
