“If you kiss me.”
“I'm not kissing you. I think it would be better if we never kiss again,” I tell him, walking to my dresser to find a pair of lace boy shorts. I pull them on under the towel I'm wrapped in. I turn around, raising my eyebrows. “Can you wait in the living room?” I ask again, this time a little more annoyed, but he hasn’t moved at all.
“Come kiss me and I’ll wait in the living room.”
My eyes narrow. “Is this like your newest game?” I ask on a head tilt. “I have to tell you, I'm not interested in playing with you, Trevor.”
“No game,” he says, shrugging. “Like I said before, we’re going to be best friends.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I don’t kiss my friends, so if you could kindly leave and let me get dressed, that would be great.”
“We’re going to do a lot more than kiss, baby,” he says, smirking. I want to throttle him; instead, I grab a lace bra, a white tank top, and a pair of sweats. If he’s going casual, so am I. Once I have everything I need, I head to the bathroom, leaving a smug looking Trevor on my bed. I slam the bathroom door for good measure. “Are you always this cranky in the morning?” he yells. I ignore him and get dressed.
Standing in front of the mirror, I wonder why he’s acting so strange. I look to the ceiling, hoping for the answer. When we were friends before, he never kissed me; he never even hugged me until the night July was born. And our make out—and my almost-orgasm—night was more the vodka than anything else, so that doesn’t even really count. “Why is he interested now?” I whisper, looking at myself in the mirror. I haven’t changed. I pull my hair up into a messy bun on top of my head, do a couple swipes of mascara and a little blush, then I open the bathroom door. I look at the bed and see that Trevor is now laying down, with one arm thrown over his eyes, and the other against his abs.
“Trevor, let’s go,” I say, walking to my closet to grab a pair of sneakers. I sit in the chair next to the bed, bend and put them on, and he still hasn’t moved. “Trevor,” I sigh, going to stand next to him. I touch his arm lying across his stomach, tracing the tattoo that travels down his wrist. All the air is pushed out of my lungs when I'm grabbed suddenly, and tossed onto the bed with Trevor half on top of me. “What are you doing?” I breathe, trying to push him off.
“You haven’t kissed me since I got here,” he says, his hand going to the hair at the side of my head, sweeping it back.
“I'm not kissing you.” I push him again and he doesn’t budge.
“Did you sleep in my hoodie?” he asks. I completely freeze, trying to think of an excuse for wearing his hoodie. His face bends towards mine, his nose running along my jaw. I can feel him inhale, and somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder if he just sniffed me. “Did you sleep in it?” he asks again, this time quietly. I can feel goose bumps breaking out across my skin. His hand travels from my hip and down my thigh, to the underside of my knee. My brain is in overdrive, and the words that I want to say seem to have gotten stuck in my throat. “Did you wear something under it?” he asks, running his nose down my neck. “Or did you want to feel me wrapped around you all night?”
“We need to go.” I say quietly, finally getting my brain to function. I push him again, and he presses me deeper into the bed.
“What scent is that?” He runs his nose along my jaw, behind my ear, and down my neck.
“Heaven,” I gulp, as his hand behind my knee travels up to my hip again.
Softly, he whispers in my ear, “Yeah.” He breathes against my skin, causing my heart to skip and my belly to drop. “That smell makes me want to eat you,” he says, nipping my neck. Oh God! My thighs squeeze together automatically. Oh my God! My brain is screaming at me to stop this, but my hands itch to grab his head and drag his mouth to mine.
“W-we ne-need to go,” I stutter out on a shaky breath.
“In a minute,” he mumbles, right before his tongue touches the base of my neck, then it travels up to my chin. When his mouth crashes into mine, all thoughts leave my head. One of my hands goes to his bicep, the other to his head, running my fingers up the back of his scalp, pulling him closer. His mouth travels down my neck; the roughness of the scruff on his face rubs against my skin and all I can feel is fire, the same fire I felt the last time we were together. That thought is all I needed to snap out of this crazy moment.
“Trevor,” I whisper, wishing that my voice would come out stronger. His eyes meet mine; they’re darker than normal. He rubs his chin against mine; I bite my lip against the urge to moan or press into him. I want to scream. When we were friends, I told him things that I had never told anyone else. I trusted him. I had been falling in love with the person that he is, not the guy that every woman in town wants a piece of, but the real him. The one who listened to me when I shared the hurt of my past and the one who helps old ladies carry groceries across the street. The one who stopped in the middle of the road when he saw a bird with a broken wing, and the one who loves his mom so much, that no matter who’s around or where they are, he hugs her and tells her he loves her. That guy; that was the Trevor that I was falling in love with. Then he showed me a side of him that was ugly and hurtful, a side that I can’t forget no matter how much I want to.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and I nod my head, pushing against him.