“Who, Charlotte? She has a boyfriend.”
He can’t breathe. He’s gasping and, then, he’s so angry he can barely see straight. It’s like fog, impenetrable, and suddenly he just needs to hit something.
He imagines the scene, later, when his bottom lip has stopped quavering in time to his heart; his face suddenly dropping, then contorting, then his hand slamming down against the warped metal of his locker door. Buck, watching him, must have taken a careful step backwards, because now Ren can’t see him in the heavy thrall of the hallway.
Ren doesn’t hate her. He feels like he should hate her, but he can’t, he can’t make himself stop loving her tiny hands and wrists and the too many rings she wears on each finger. He still wants to need her, to crave her, because just the idea of her is absolutely enthralling. It’s stupid, really, to stop loving someone just for the infinitesimal technicality that they don’t love you back.
If she were there, he’d pull her close, so close that maybe they’d stick together, their skin like glue and their fingertips like magnets. Ren had always envisioned this moment as soft and sweet and carefully passionate, but now all he wants is for it to be angry and rushed and hot as hell. The kind of kiss you need when Charlotte doesn’t really want you, after all.
YOU ARE READING
Osculation
Romance"As far as I can tell, there are two basic (kissing) rules: 1. Don't bite anything without permission. 2. The human tongue is like wasabi: it's very powerful, and should be used sparingly." In which Anna writes about a lot of people kissing.
