“I’m not jealous of your beau,” Gwen mutters. And then her lips crash onto Beth’s. Beth gasps against her mouth, frozen in shock. Her mind goes totally blank. Gwen, kissing, wine, jealous—oh. Oh. Gwen goes to pull back but Beth’s hands shoot out, quite of their own accord, clutching at her waist, anchoring Gwen against her. Beth rises on her toes, pressing their lips back together, the warm, soft pleasure of it trickling through her. This is what it’s supposed to be. This is what it’s supposed to feel like. Swoony and bright and everything.
