Under the Lights

“I know. That’s sort of the point.” I run my finger over the bumpy seam of the armchair, following the path with my gaze. There’s no way I can look Bri in the eye for this. “But Ally and I have a thing about our, um… our firsts. We weren’t even speaking last year when she lost her virginity to Liam, and she still told me immediately. And I know I’m screwing everything up, and that I have no idea where to go from here, but the fact that I’ve found someone I’d want to be my first… that’s the kind of thing we tell each other.” I snort a little as I dig a nail under a loose stitch. “Guess I really don’t believe in the whole ‘purity before marriage’ concept. For me, I mean.”

There’s no response from the couch, and my heart sinks as I wonder just how badly I’ve freaked her out with that. But it’s out there, and what’s more is that it’s true. I want to be with Bri with every fiber of my being, and though I know it’s not in our future, the fact that I feel that way at all just seems so incredibly… significant.

Finally, the silence becomes too loud for me to bear, and I look up to see her staring back at me. She doesn’t look horrified, or repulsed, or even scared.

She looks awed.

“That’s really how you feel about me?” she asks, so quietly I can barely hear, but just loud enough to raise goose bumps all up and down my body.

“I’m not trying to push you into anything by saying that,” I add quickly. “I know why you don’t want to be together, and I get it and respect it, I promise. But I am so, so tired of pretending. I know it’s selfish, but just this once, I need to be honest about how I feel. Even if this is the only time I get to say it. I need you to know how I wish things were and how much I care about you and—” Want you. I can’t say the words, but I hope they’re coming out loud and clear. Judging by the way her cheeks flush and those light-green eyes smolder, I’m thinking they do.

“Thanks for that.” Her voice is still so soft, so quiet, I have no idea what she’s thinking. And then the look in her eyes shifts, like she’s made up her mind about something, and she stands.

I know I’m watching her leave for what’s probably the last time, and there’s a distinct dagger-in-the-heart feeling as I walk her to the door. “I’m sorry,” I can’t help saying for the millionth time as I follow behind.

Her hand reaches for the knob, but she doesn’t turn the handle; she turns the lock. “Don’t be,” she says, taking my hand and twining her fingers with mine. “Please, please don’t be.” And then she wraps her other arm around my neck and kisses me so deeply that everything else on my shoulders — on earth — falls away. And then I’m walking backward toward my bedroom, pulling her as our lips meet over and over, taking care to make sure I’m using only enough force to guide and none to pressure.

We slip onto my bed easily, like it’d been waiting for us, like this had always been the plan.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, and I’m so drugged from kissing her that it takes me a few seconds to realize she’s talking about her fingers, trailing down my body, gently stroking every curve on their way down.

“Uh huh,” I manage as the tip of her nose brushes my earlobe, her breath warm on my neck. Her mouth covers mine again, and God, when did making out get so dizzying? I swear, I’ve done this a million times, but it’s never felt like this — not with Zander, not with anyone.

Now that she’s drawn my attention to her fingers, I can’t help noticing everywhere they travel — up my shirt, over my bra…every touch is so slow, so gentle, so careful. It feels like she’s afraid I’ll bolt any second, change my mind, and declare that I don’t like girls after all.

I shift on the bed, trapping her hand in my shirt but freeing my mouth to speak. “Bri, I want this. I mean this. You know that, right?”

She bites her lip, smiling sheepishly. It’s adorable. But I want to be the one biting her lip. “I guess it still feels a little surreal. And scary.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re scared? Hi, you’re the one who’s done this before.”

“Yeah, and you haven’t, which is kind of a big deal,” she says softly. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay.”

“Okay, then.” She smiles against my lips, and then we’re kissing again, and her hand slides back down my shirt to tug at the hem. We break for her to pull it over my head and toss it on the floor, and I do the same with hers, taking the time to graze her skin, her curves, that tiny little tummy that’s such a turn-on I can barely breathe. All I can think is how soft this all feels, how different, how perfect. So perfect I forget to be nervous when she unhooks my bra and slides it down my arms. So perfect I don’t even have a moment to be self-conscious when she looks at me — really looks at me — and murmurs, “God, you’re beautiful,” before kissing me again. And again. And again.

And then her fingertips are traveling down, down, down.

“Is this okay?” she murmurs.