It's Just Pretend

Morning After - Reminiscing 2

"The first time I kissed you. One kiss, I was totally hooked. Addicted to you."

- Ellen Hopkins

After the movie, we made a quick detour to the nearest 7 Eleven for a slushie. The theatre had disappointingly been out of them earlier, which, in my opinion, was a crime in the middle of summer. Seriously, how does a theatre run out of slushies in peak heat? But I wasn't too mad—this pit stop came with a bonus intermission: a high-speed chase between a couple on a four-wheel bike and a squad of seven troopers. Typical Wood Creek crackheads.

Once the troopers sped off in pursuit, we headed inside, grabbed a few snacks and our long-awaited slushies, then aimlessly drove around town for a while before deciding on a final stop—University Lookout Point. The night stretched before us, easy and unhurried, the kind of night that makes you want to press pause.

As we sat there, the quiet hum of conversation between us, I took the chance to observe him more closely. He was touchy but in a way that felt comfortable, open to questions but a little reserved—nervous, maybe, though he masked it well. I liked that about him. He wasn't forcing anything; everything about the night felt organic, smooth.

The highlight of our conversation? Him casually mentioning he had spent a thousand dollars on his last tattoo. A thousand. U.S. dollars. Sir? For what? I had to bite back a laugh because honestly, the ink wasn't even worth that much. But I understood the addiction, the thrill of the needle. That's how I ended up with a damn lion in my back and a tree covering my leg.

Leaning back in the passenger seat, I let myself soak in the moment—the cityscape of Wood Creak below us, his presence beside me, the occasional flutter of his fingers against my skin. I wasn't mad at this one bit. Sometimes, you have an amazing vibe with someone over the phone, and then in person, it falls flat. But this? This was translating perfectly. The chemistry was intact, the energy seamless. I shoved down the impulse to kiss him and instead nestled closer, enjoying the warmth of his body against mine. No rush. No pressure. Just us.

For a second, though, my mind betrayed me, spiraling into an abyss of self-doubt. Did he like the date? Did I look good enough? Did I smell okay? Was my breath fresh? The fact that he hadn't made a move yet—was that him being respectful or a sign he wasn't feeling it? Maybe I wasn't his type. This was both of our first times dating outside our race. What if I didn't do it for him? The last guy I went on dates with was respectful too—so respectful, in fact, that I never heard from him again.

Before I could fully spiral, Cinderella's curfew snapped us back to reality. He had work in the morning and always made sure to be in bed by eleven. It was already a few minutes past. I agreed it was time to call it a night. After all, it was a random Wednesday.

As we shifted to leave, our eyes met for a beat too long. My gaze flickered to his lips, lingering a little too obviously, and when I instinctively licked my own, I caught the briefest hesitation in him. But then, we both cleared our throats, strapped in, and started the drive back. No kiss.

The ride home was a bit of a blur. Maybe because my mind was still reeling, still replaying our moments. When we arrived, he attempted to be a gentleman, coming around to open my door and walk me to my doorstep. I let him.

And then? The most embarrassing goodbye in my history of goodbyes.

I was giving him the eyes—the unmistakable, universal "kiss me, you fool" eyes. He? Ignored them. Instead, he placed his hands around my waist and pulled me in for a hug. And oh, God, I melted. If I wasn't careful, I was going to spontaneously combust right then and there. My insides were screaming, begging for something, anything, and he must have sensed it because he suddenly pulled back and asked:

"Can I?"

Internally, I was screaming, YES! FINALLY! FUCK YES! But outwardly, I smirked. "I thought you'd never ask. I've been waiting all evening, Cinderella."

That was all the permission he needed. He pulled me closer, and my arms shot up around his neck as if they had a mind of their own. I rose onto my toes, pressing my lips against his.

The first few seconds were hesitant, the usual awkwardness of two people feeling each other out, testing the waters. His lips were soft, hesitant at first, then firm. And suddenly, there was no hesitation at all. The awkwardness dissolved into something primal. The kiss turned hard, urgent. Lips smashed together, tongues searching, hands roaming—not too inappropriately, just enough to add gasoline to the fire.

I could feel him pressed against me, the heat of his body, the evidence of his arousal. My back was bare, and the way his hands skimmed across my skin sent a full-body shudder through me. It had been months—okay, a year—since I had been touched like this. Since I had let myself be touched like this. I was drowning in sensation, gripping onto him, moaning into his mouth as I sucked on his tongue.

Then, he started shaking.

Worried, I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

He exhaled sharply, a little embarrassed. "I'm okay. It's just been... two years since I've... and that kiss—it just threw me off."

I softened, chuckling as I held onto him. "Hold onto me and breathe. Let's take a second."

We steadied ourselves, catching our breath. I should've laughed at how wild this was, how fast things escalated, but all I could think about was how good he felt. And then, just like that, we were back at it. Lips crashed together again, tongues tangling, bodies pressing.

Time slipped away. When I finally pulled back, gasping for air, I realized we had been making out for ten minutes straight. He seemed just as dazed, his lips swollen, his lashes fluttering. I wanted more. Needed more. But reality intruded again.

"We should stop," I murmured, barely believing my own words.

He nodded, breathless. "Yeah... yeah, we almost didn't want to."

Regaining composure, I smirked. "Well, I guess this is goodnight. You still need to follow me to my doorstep like you promised."

"Lead the way," he said, his voice hoarse.

At my door, I hesitated, turning back to him. I wanted more. Just one more. "You know... in the movies, when the guy walks the girl to the door, he gives her a goodnight kiss. So, can I have just one more, please?"

He chuckled. "You won't ever want to stop, but... one more won't hurt."

He pulled me in again, this time slower, deeper. He took his time tasting me, savoring me. And when we finally parted, it was with reluctance.

With a satisfied smirk, I opened my door and waited until he drove off before I stepped inside. The second I shut it behind me, I was jumping around like a lovestruck fool.

Damn.

That was a kiss.

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I don't proof read these so there may be words that make no sense because Grammarly sometimes want me to say some stupid things. Anyway, thoughts thus far?