Frisson

27 | she

r o r y

Chace hasn't said a word about what happened at the party. Well, nothing more than delicate apologies and half explanations - half drifting off into shameful quietness. The most I've gathered is that someone said something shitty to him, probably about me (it's usually about me), and he snapped. I saw the guy on the ground bleeding from his nose and mouth. I saw Chace's fist shaking and bruised with bits of his blood on the surface. I saw the horror in his eyes when he saw me standing there like he was afraid of how he looked in front of me.

I want him to know that I don't care.

When we pull up to the bar where we're supposed to meet Rosita, he shuts down his car and places his forehead against the steering wheel. "Sorry, if I ruined tonight," he says. "I swear, I don't know what came over me, I just- it was instant. I-"

I place my hand over his, the one that's red and somewhat chapped with a growing bruise. He looks up suddenly. I smile, keep my gaze on his hand, and run my thumb along the angered skin. "Look at us," I say, emphasizing the bruise on my knuckles. "We match."

"Rory..."

I shift my attention to his remorseful gaze and show him my compassion. "We've been dealing with a lot of assholes lately, huh?"

His eyes search mine and something soft and reliant flutters upon his ocean stare. The corner of his mouth lifts. "Yeah. We have."

I place my forehead against his. "You know how we can make up for it?"

"How?"

"We go inside, have a drink or two, flirt with Rosie, bring her home, and have the night of our lives." I stroke my thumb along his jawline. "We should make the most out of our last day together."

He steals my lips for the briefest moment like I'm his final trace of oxygen. "You're right. We can't let anything kill this night for us."

"Right." I cup his face with a cheeky grin. "Let's go."

We step out of the car and into the parking lot. The place isn't packed yet. It's barely past seven and crowds don't usually show up until after midnight. I pull my phone out to see where Rosita said she'd meet us. At the bar. Great. Despite it being months ago since Tyler told me the trick to nabbing drinks underage, tricking a bartender with my fake I.D. still brings sweat to my palms. I'd love to buy her a drink to help loosen her up. My first time with a girl had me shaking with just as much fear and excitement, surely, she's feeling the same.

What if I don't like it? What if it doesn't feel right? How do you go down on a girl? First times are hard enough with the misconception of magical sex and effortless passion. Doing it with someone of the same sex? It's an entirely different ballpark. I want to ease her into this experience and help her every step of the way.

She stands out at the bar like a rose in a sea of monochrome, dressed in a tight crimson dress that's short enough to compliment her long while accenting her small breasts. Dark rivers of hair are curled down her back, brushed away from her nervous shoulders. Her gaze meets mine as I approach and her red lips arch in relief. I take the seat next to her, sliding my hand over her wrist. "Nice color," I say over the music.