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I barely have to pull him toward me as I lean in and kiss his cheek.
The smile is gone, but there is an unmistakable heat in his eyes now.
He’s not looking at me, but I’m looking at him. I’m looking at him and realizing for the first time that I want him. I want him. And that terrifies me.
“Sorry, but you know what I just realized?” “What?” “That I like you. I really, really like you,” I tell him, unable to keep the excitement from my tone.
“Jesus, no, I mean yes, of course I’ve liked you. What I meant is that I just realized that I like you. Like, I want to kiss you. And we should have sex, sometime.”
“Not that I’m not totally on board with what you just said, but…that’s a kid’s book about learning the rules of hockey. It was meant to be a joke, not an aphrodisiac.” “Oh, I know. Just a happy accident.”
He catches himself and straightens, still chuckling. He looks happier than I ever thought it possible for him to look. “I’m kidding. We can go as slow or as fast as you want to go. You’re calling the shots, Zeke, don’t worry about me.”
“It’s not a skills competition. I’m not going to be critiquing your technique, Zeke, I’m just going to be happy you’re, you know, kissing me.”
“Dude, stop worrying,” Carter says, catching my chin between his thumb and forefinger. Interesting things start happening with the nerve endings on my face. “Do I need to ravish you to distract you?”
he swipes his thumb across the line of my jaw and I forget how to form coherent sentences. Smirking, he does it again, but lets the pad of his finger drift across my bottom lip. My heart is positively racing; I’m not sure I’d actually mind if he did want to ravish me on the rug.
“I wouldn’t mind if you were bad at kissing,” he muses, not letting go of my hand. “That just means we get to practice more.”
I’ll look over and see him watching me in a way that feels like he’s undressing me. But he hasn’t yet done anything about it, and I can’t be the one to initiate it.
“So, you talk to your Zeke about being a free agent, and then talk to Coach Mackenzie.”
He smiles when he sees me. Before I can second guess myself, I stride over. Placing one hand gently on the side of his neck, I bend and kiss his temple.
My family isn’t a safe space for me. It’s guilt and the soul crushing weight of unattainable expectations. It’s never fitting in, and feeling uncomfortable in a world you’re expected to live in. It’s the exact opposite of the love and acceptance he gets from his grandmother.
If you’re lucky enough to have the choice, you should choose the one that will make you happy.”
When I swipe my thumb across his palm, his breathing changes. I do it again, because this is the only skin I’ve been given access to and I want to memorize each millimeter.
“Hunky!” Zeke shouts. “Delicious. A tall drink of thrice-distilled, spring fed water.”
The back of his neck is so fucking soft, I want to put my lips there. “I like this,” he mumbles from where his face is pressed against my chest, and tightens his arms. Me too. Me fucking too.
“You know what?” he asks. “What?” “You’re so damn tall that if I want to kiss you, I’ll have to get a step stool. Or yank your face down, I guess.”
You have to breathe to talk, and it takes a moment to remind myself how that’s done. Zeke’s no longer watching his hands, but looking at my face. It’s very hard to concentrate with his fingers moving like that.
“Is that what you want me to do?”
“Yes, please,” he answers politely, and then rises up on his tiptoes because apparently, he hasn’t killed off enough of my brain cells yet. I catch his face in my hands and lean down. Remember to breathe, I remind myself, and then I kiss him.
I want to go slowly—not ask for or take too much too fast. But if he keeps making noises like that, my control isn’t going to last long. Zeke moans, low in the back of his throat, and slides his hands up my sides until every inch of his hands are touching me. My skin zings at the contact, and if I wasn’t enjoying the way holding his face feels, I might do a little exploring of my own.
All he’s going to have to do is kiss me like this and make soft, adorable noises as he does it—I’ve never been so worked up in my life.
I’m still touching his face, but loosely enough that I’m not holding him back from pulling away. I notice for the first time how hard he’s breathing; there is a flush across his cheeks and his eyes are bright.
If he breaks up with me after that kiss, I’m not sure I could survive it.
“Zeke,” I murmur, when I can no longer stand the silence. Funny, really, since he’s the one who usually can’t shut up.
“Well,” he says, and has to pause to clear the gravel from his throat, “two things. One: I don’t think I’m going to be able to concentrate on homework any longer, so I think we should just sit on the bed and keep kissing. Two: I know I’ve seen you without your shirt on, but I hadn’t realized how…bumpy and hard you are.”
Nobody in the world makes me laugh the way Zeke does.
“I really like you, Carter Morgan. I like you more than I’ve ever liked anybody before.”
“And I know how emotional declarations make you uncomfortable, so I’ll stop there.”
He’s not wrong that I’m not super comfortable voicing emotional things, but I damn sure like to hear them. I like you more than I’ve ever liked somebody before—couldn’t have said it better myself. I like nobody as much as I like Zeke. It’s a little frightening, this depth of emotion.
There are a lot of things I could survive losing, but Zeke Cassidy isn’t one of them.
“Now, that was a pretty epic first kiss. How about we try and top it for the second?”
“Well…that’s true. But we kiss all the time now. Like, a lot. I’m getting chapped lips and an addiction.”
“We’re best friends, Zeke. If you can’t talk about butt sex with your best friend, are we even friends?” He nudges my knee with his, below the table. “No need to be embarrassed.”
On one hand, the thought of having sex with him makes me nervous, but on the other it’s something I want to do.
“Well, you shouldn’t be doing anything unless you’re comfortable with it, and you don’t have to, anyway. Also, I really shouldn’t have to point out that, while yes, you and Carter have dissimilar body types, that shouldn’t be something that makes you anxious. He obviously likes what he sees when he looks at you, and that’s not going to change with your clothes off. He’s openly invested in this relationship and you look the same now as you did at the beginning. I really don’t think it matters.”
“I don’t think it matters if somebody is bad at it,” he says, and then uncrosses his arms to hold up a hand when he sees me start to interrupt. “No, seriously. Who cares? That just means you do it more often, right? And this sort of thing isn’t really about what you’re doing or how you’re doing it. I think who you’re with means more. Carter could be a truly terrible kisser, but how would you know? You enjoy kissing him, and that’s all that matters.”
“Hey,” he says, and leans down to give me a quick kiss. This is one of my favorite things about Carter: his complete indifference to what other people might think about our relationship.
“Max, this is Zeke. He is the best thing that has ever happened to Carter.”
I, too, am looking at his chest as I speak. I’m barely recognizable to myself right now—I’ve become one of those people who salivates over men’s chests.
Planting his hands on either side of my hips, he leans down and kisses me. Reaching up, I put my hands on either side of his face and hold him at my level. He makes a small, pleased sound and presses his lips more firmly against mine. I really think I could die happy if I had nothing but a future of kissing Carter in front of me. I cannot fathom how sex of any kind could be better than this.
It’s another thing I’ve noticed about him: how much he appreciates someone caring about whether he made it home safe.
“Nothing, I’m just exercising my sacred right as your boyfriend to watch you undress.”
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” I stare at him, fingers clenched in the soft comforter. I do want to stay here tonight. I want to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing, and be kept warm by his body heat.
“Oh, well, yes, I could do that. Stay here,” I stutter, blushing. “Just to sleep, if that’s okay,” he says, kindly giving me an out. “Maybe a little snuggling, if you’re up for it.”
I’ve never slept like this before—cuddled up with someone else—but I have a feeling it’s going to be an enjoyable experience. Anything that brings Carter’s face this close to mine is a worthy way to spend a night.
“So,” he says, interrupting my thoughts, “I seem to remember there being talk of kissing? Unless you’re the one who didn’t brush their teeth last night.” Feeling daring, I lean down and press my lips to the closest part of him I can reach: his shoulder. He sucks in a sharp, painful breath, like I stabbed him with a knife instead of kissing him. I do it one more time, in a different spot. Scooting closer so that I don’t have to reach as far and my front is pressed against his side, I skirt the bruise and kiss the center of his chest. His unmoving chest.
