Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
And I am more than willing to live in my denial while I drive Whit’s truck back to my place with his drunk ass beside me.
Though, I’m not entirely sure how drunk he is now. He’s quiet, and that’s a rarity for him. We’re silent as we enter my apartment, and he’s less wobbly than he was back at the bar.
He flops down on his usual spot on the futon. “I was really going to do it tonight.”
“I know you were.” I try to keep the condescension out of my voice.
He has wanted this since I met him. He’s been desperate for it, even. But something has been holding him back, and I don’t know how I can help him if I don’t understand it.
“Maybe you’re just not ready. That’s okay. No one can tell you when you should be ready for sex, and it doesn’t matter how old you are. Twenty-one isn’t old.”
“I’m twenty-two on Wednesday.”
“Twenty-two isn’t old, either. It’s older than average for being a virgin, but sometimes I think teenagers shouldn’t be allowed to tie their own shoes, let alone have sex. Or vote for that matter.”
Whit sits up, leaving a space for me next to him.
When I join him, he turns to me.
“The thing is, though, I’m so ready. I’ve been ready since I came out, and that was months ago. I thought the closet was what was in my way, but now I’m thinking it’s me.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you. If I hadn’t stepped in, that creepy Ian dude would’ve taken advantage tonight. I don’t understand why you thought you had to get so drunk to go through with it.”
Whit sighs. “I almost did it. Almost had my first kiss. But I was lip-blocked by my straight friend who’s straight.”
I try to make sense of what he’s just said. “Wait. First kiss? You told me you were a virgin, but I at least assumed you’d made out with a guy.”
“Nope. Haven’t kissed a girl, either. Unless we count, like, fifth grade peck on the lips. That was gross, by the way.”
Whit has never even kissed someone. That’s umm … Wow.
“Okay, well, that’s your problem,” I say. “You’ve built this up in your head, and now it’s this monumental thing. You’ve just got to do it. Rip off the Band-Aid. Then you can move on to thinking about sex.”
“Sure. And who do you suggest I rip this Band-Aid off with?”
Me.
Wait … what?
“I tried tonight with Ian,” he says. “But according to you, he’s creepy. Do you really think he’s creepy?”
No, I’m just insanely jealous of the guy for reasons I’m fighting to understand.
“What about him is creepy? He’s not exactly my type, but there’s nothing off-putting about him. He’s cute, but yeah, he is kinda small …” Whit’s doing that rambling thing again. The more he talks about Ian, the more frustrated I get.
My leg bounces, and my mouth wants to tell him to shut up.
“I should be attracted to him. He’s a guy, and I’m gay …”
He’s still talking, but I’m fixated on the idea that he’s never even kissed someone before.
The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. He only recently came out. He went from being a closeted college hockey player to suddenly trying to put himself out there. It has to be an adjustment.
I want to give him something he can hold on to. A good memory or at least a tiny nudge in the right direction.
He looks contemplative as he keeps talking. “Maybe my whole gender theory is right, and I would be more attracted to the busty blonde woman you were talking about. Maybe I’m not gay at all.”
All those confusing feelings, my body’s responses to Whit, and everything I’ve been trying to ignore bubbles to the surface, and I seize a chance. A chance where both of us could get something.
He gets his first kiss out of the way. I get to try to figure out what the hell is going on with me.
Suddenly, leaning over and kissing him seems like the best idea I’ve ever had. My stomach flip-flops.
“Fuck it.” I cup his face.
“What are you doing?” Whit tries to pull back, but I follow.
What am I doing? I have no fucking clue, either.
I press my lips against his, feathery light.
It makes no sense. Yet, for the first time in weeks, everything isn’t muddied in a haze of confusion.
Every nerve, every twitch. It’s all been leading to this.
His mouth fits against mine, and I try not to think about how we got here because I know that it was all me.
He was talking about another guy, and I kissed him.
I put my mouth on him.
It’s soft. No tongue, but not one of those gross middle-school pecks, either.
Whit’s the first one to pull away. “Oh, I am so gay—so very gay—but you’re definitely not, and—”