Gage Cilleti has just begun his junior year of high school, and is becoming more and more involved in his school's activities, considering he'd been playing baseball since he was just seven-years-old.
Elijah McCay has just dropped out of school, du...
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I don't know why I'm here. I don't why I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Terrance's car, with the windows up, and slow music is coming from his quiet radio. He's running his fingers through my curls, and is peppering small kisses up and down the crook of my neck.
My lips are hanging apart, and I reach out for his shoulder, pushing him away lightly. He obliged, raising a dark eyebrow in suspicion.
When Terrance first picked me up, we talked for a little while, as he drove down the lively streets of Chicago. We didn't stop anywhere, knowing that pulling over this time of night was far too dangerous.
Then, he found a quiet spot near a hallow creek, and parked his old Toyota carefully, right beside a large, bolder sort of rock. And before I knew it, he was practically tearing my face off with his, lips eagerly latching onto mine.
It had been so long since I'd shared a kiss with anyone, and once it was initiated—I found it hard to stop. My hands found themselves lost in his hair, as his lips ventured down my neck, sucking softly right atop of my pulse.
But now, it didn't feel right. All I felt was alone, and lost.
I pushed at his chest harder, when he tried to lean back in, eyebrows furrowing lightly. "Stop. I didn't come here to make-out with you."
He ran a calloused hand over his face, features becoming the slightest bit irritated. "Then why did you come, Gage?"
His words are so abrupt, as though I've disrupted something. I don't bother asking what it is, shaking my head in what feels like regret. He's the same person he was two months ago, but a small part of me was hoping he'd changed, when I called him.
I was hoping that maybe—if I could find it in my heart to forgive him, I'd most-likely be able to forgive Elijah, too. But once again, sitting here—I realize that they aren't the same.
At all.
Once Terrance decides that I've taken too long to respond, he leans back in, lips seeking out mine. This time, I let him, feeling his lips grasp onto mine, our lips moving slowly, but surely. The mellow tempo of the kiss, makes me toes curl with excitement.
And as he smiles into the kiss, tilting his head to deepen it, I can't help but wonder what it would feel like to kiss Elijah.
Would it feel good? Or maybe even better than good? Maybe amazing.
His tongue finds mine, as my trimmed fingernails dig into his shoulders, his left hands finding its way down to waist, gripping tightly. I'd kissed Terrance a hundred times, but this time it doesn't feel as good.
