Being in love with a straight boy is a straight-up nightmare. Especially if it's been like that for years. But it's even worse when he's your best friend's brother, who has a girlfriend that's there to remind you how straight he is. That's when it b...
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It was sloppy, wet, alcohol-flavored and a bit off to the side, but there was no question about it. It was a kiss.
Mason's hand was on my leg and his other hand was on my cheek and his curly hair was tickling my temple because he'd tilted his head for better access to get his lips on my lips. Yes, this was unquestionably a kiss.
We were at a party. Bad idea.
Mason was drunk. Bad idea.
I was tipsy/borderline drunk. Bad idea.
Harriet wasn't here. Bad idea.
I'd let him cling to me all evening because who are all these people where did my classmates go did those trick ass bitches fucking leave us why did we even go here well you wanted to go to a party so bad to have fun and stop stressing and insisted I come along oh right haha let's get another beer. Bad fucking idea.
It was a like a dream come true, but the dream was a nightmare. For a moment, everything was flower petals and rainbows and sparkles and all that shit. For just a tiny moment, I thought I'd finally gotten what I wanted and foolishly and hungrily returned the kiss, leaning forward, moving my lips to correct the clumsy placement and enjoy the warmth of his lips, until reality came crashing down. Until a monster came to brutally rip it all apart, piece by piece, shredding my heart until there was nothing whole left.
This was not good.
I had no idea what to do. The alcohol in my body was egging my heart on to keep going because this is it! This is what you want! This is what you've always wanted! But I couldn't do that. The small part of my brain that was still sober knew that.
Somehow, I managed to push him off and I held him at an arm's length to ask, "Mason... w-what are you doing?"
"Isn't this what you want?" he slurred in reply.
"Yes—I mean, no."
He pouted adorably and said, "But I thought—"
I shook my head. "Not when you have a... a girlfriend."
He brought a hand up to press a finger to my lips to shush me. Moving his head from side to side, he said in a sing-song voice, "What she doesn't know won't hurt her."
"Jesus Christ, Mason, you don't mean that," I groaned, slapping his hand away and fighting the idea that Harriet was not important—that she didn't matter right now—and that I finally got him right where I wanted him. I had to force myself to say, "You know Harriet would be really upset."
It was as if I'd flipped a switch. At first, he just sat there, staring at the floor, thinking hard with that little frown of his, until it all dawned on him. It hit him like a ton of bricks—I could see it happening. He suddenly started tearing up and threw his arms around me and sobbed, "I'm a mess, Kenny!"
