My Favourite Part

66: daybreak

If you asked me yesterday morning how I felt about Scott Kellerman, I'd have said that he was a friend. An awesome friend that makes me laugh and feel safe; one that I can count on, rain or shine (literally).

If you ask me today, I might need a minute to figure out an answer – maybe more. As it stands, I've been trying to come up with my answer for the entirety of the 14 minutes I've been awake.

When Scott and I first woke up, I'd say we played off any awkwardness pretty well. I told him he snores like an English bulldog (even though he doesn't), and he fired back that I kicked him at least 16 times whilst we slept. I know for a fact I didn't – we slept on separate mattresses a good few metres apart – but the jokes made things feel semi-normal; like we were still us, and last night hadn't changed a thing.

Except, I think it did.

At one point, before Scott headed upstairs to check on his mum, he gave me that crooked smile of his that I'd seen on him a hundred times before, only this time, it felt different. The fact that I felt anything at all threw me. There was a gentle tug in my chest, all warm and delicate like flitting butterfly wings, and under his gaze I almost felt... shy. What the hell is going on?

As soon as Scott disappears up the stairs and I'm left on my own for a moment, last night's memories start seeping in, bit by blush-inspiring bit.

We kissed.

Scott. And. I. Kissed.

I'd never admit it out loud, but I'd been imagining what it would be like to kiss Scott all night. From the moment he'd gotten all philosophical about life and love and our friends and the future, I'd just wanted to get closer to him, you know? In a sappy sort of way, I didn't know if I wanted to kiss him, or just feel all the comfort and kindness I saw when I looked at him.

But when we'd made our little plan and sat cross-legged across from each other with our eyes closed, it wasn't his comfort or his kindness pressed tenderly against my lips. It was him melting against me, making me feel high. Boy-scented, soft-stubbled him. And I'd be lying through my teeth if I said I wasn't dying for another moment, another feeling, as perfect as his lips on mine.

But, we agreed not to talk about it again after today. I was the one who came up with the goddamn terms.

That doesn't stop the goose bumps from prickling up on my skin at the thought of last night, though. It's like my own body is taunting me with my memories of the pure fucking electric feeling of Scott's strong hands cupping my face; and the feral sound that came from deep in his throat every time my tongue brushed against just the right place; and the insatiable, intoxicating feeling of needing more of his gaze, his kiss, his tou-

"Hey."

His voice seems to come out of thin air, and I jump, chucking the remote control in my hand halfway across the living room.

Scott looks at me, amused, as he re-enters and takes his seat on the makeshift mattress bed across from mine.

"Jumpy, are we?" He teases.

I wish I had something witty to say in return. Instead, all I can focus on is how good he looks with his school shirt barely buttoned up, and his chocolate-y hair that's so imperfectly tousled that it's somehow perfect. Oh my God, what's wrong with me?

"Uh, I guess so, heh. Um, is your mum awake yet?"

"Yeah, yeah, she's up. Yours too. They're in your mum's room, chatting away like it's the morning after a rager. It's kind of adorable that Mum's finally made a friend," he says, his mouth curving into an involuntary sort of smile.