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Kenzi sits up and runs her nails over the back of my neck. “Firsts for both of us, then.”
“This was not your first time,” I protest.
“You said it yourself—your first time doesn’t have to be penetrative to count.”
“Oh my God…do not. Do not repeat my idiot words back to me.” I bury my face in the pillow. I feel sticky and sullied and ridiculous. “I wish I was Pinocchio.”
“Because he’s…made of wood?”
“No. Because he got swallowed up in the belly of a whale.”
A light chuckle escapes Kenzi. “C’mon. It’s not that bad. It’s kind of flattering, actually.”
“Great,” I groan. “I’m going to go lie underneath a car now.”
“Stop. You’re so dramatic.” She rests her chin on my shoulder. Her breath tickles my neck lightly, and eventually, it draws me out of my turtle shell. I roll out of my hunch and lift my head.
“Can we just…go back to being friends and pretend this part of the night never happened?”
She blinks at me, those green doe eyes all innocent. “Pretend what never happened?”
The silence between us is like steel wool against the skin. I want to say something, but all my words have jumped down my throat and refuse to resurface.
“I like this song,” Kenzi says after a moment. “Turn it up?”
I do. We both stare at the video without really watching it. Halfway through, she gets close and rests her head on my shoulder.
“You’re my best friend,” she says after a minute, “You know that, right?”
“You’re mine.”
We’re okay. We’re going to be okay.
We stay up late, watching videos, just existing in each other’s shared space.
9
Kenzi
I’d love to rub my prank in Jason King’s smug face.
But I can’t.
Because he doesn’t show up at the Healing Touch after that.
Which should be nice—no loud music playing all night, no constant cheering, as though we’re docked next to a football stadium.
But it’s not nice. It’s boring. I find myself sitting on the bow of Sweet Serenity staring mournfully at the uninhabited cockpit, almost—
—No, don’t say it—
Well, I almost miss the guy. Complete with his six-pack abs and arrogant smile.
Even Donovan and I are running out of things to talk about when we can’t complain about Jason and his Merry Band of Jerks.
I’m starting to get that sinking feeling in my stomach…like maybe I went too far at the beach. I have a bad habit of not knowing when to draw the line. In trying to out-jerk the jerk…have I become the jerkiest of them all?
Ugh. The thought keeps me up at night more than I’d like to admit.
