Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Right. That’s my cue to explain why I’m here. To talk, spill whatever it was that I came to spill, do some unburdening, and freaking try and save myself. But just like the party and every single time I’ve seen Remi since I got back, my tongue is tied into ten thousand knots, my cock is starting to do something really inconvenient in my jeans, and my chest is a vice around my hammering heart, booming in my ears. It’s extremely loud, so no wonder I can’t say a damn thing. I can’t hear my own thoughts over the roaring. I also can’t catch my breath. My body is all clammy, and yes, it’s possible even though I’m already soaked to the bone. I know I shouldn’t panic. I should just say something. Anything. Like, literally anything. Get the ball rolling. I’ve done it before.
She’s so pretty. Her eyes are so blue, and she looks good in that sweater. Her hair is messy, but it’s sweet like that. The just woken up from sleep look is a good look on her.
What I should not do is take a step forward, but somehow, I’m doing that anyway. I shouldn’t be reaching out blindly and falling toward her as though I need her to save me. Like as though her touch has the power to do that. I’m not even sure what’s happening here. Am I asking for another hug? For just that basic human contact and kindness that isn’t so basic?
Remi’s eyes roam down the length of me quickly, starting at my face, down to my toes, and then ending back on my face. I take another step closer. She doesn’t move. Her eyes are even bigger now, and they’re so, so blue. The sweater she’s wearing sets them off. They’re cerulean now. Just those eyes alone could thaw some of the nasty ice that’s encased my heart for such a long time. This moment is…well, I don’t know what it is, but it’s happening. It’s happening because I’m there now. I’ve closed the distance, and I have a hand on her waist. I’m a sopping mess, but I gently pull her up against me anyway, not like a beast. She gasps but tilts her face up. I lower mine, and our mouths meet somewhere in the middle. It should be a crashing, perfect harmony, but I’m out of practice, so I glance my teeth off of hers.
“Ouch!”
“Oh my god, I’m so—” I try to get the apology out, but it never happens because her hands close around my neck, and her fingers trace little circles there against my wet, bare skin, the pattern raising the slicked-down hairs at the back of my neck. After all that cold rain, now is the time I break out in goosebumps.
She guides my face back down until our lips are touching again, softly grazing. Then hers part beneath mine, and oh my god, heaven. She’s all gentle sighs, sweet passion, safety, and fire—delicious goddess fire. Also, oh my god, this is Remi, Kimmy’s best friend. My little sister’s best friend. She already hates me enough, and it’s three in the morning. I’m a hot mess, a total wreck, a sopping wet fool, and a total pleb to top it all off. That’s me. Plebby, pleb, plebville. Ugh, that word is so unkind. Why? Just why? Thanks a lot, video game kids.
Her lips are so soft, softer than I could have ever anticipated. They taste like mint and sweetness, gentleness and promise, and also kindness. I want more. I want to close my arms around her, steer her to the wall, press her up against it, and plunder her mouth properly. I want to take my time, trace my tongue with hers, and have her strip away my wet clothes even though it would probably be difficult because these jeans are for sure not going to come off without a fight. I want her hands on my cold skin, warming me up. I want her body on my body—skin to skin because that’s always warmer—while we snuggle under warm blankets with sheets that smell like her, her hair fanned out on a pillow around me. I also want her curves pressed down the length of me, her cheek over my heartbeat.
It’s a nice fantasy, but it isn’t real, no matter how my dick is giving me one heck of a fist bump inside my jeans. And holy shit, that fist bump is way too close to Remi. This isn’t a fantasy, it’s real life, and I need to get the heck out of here before I ruin what little I haven’t pulverized into smithereens already.
I tear my lips from hers, wrench myself away, and whirl for the door. It’s still open, rain slanting into the house. My wet shoes squeak and slurp and burp and fart as I stride out the door and down the concrete steps.