Oh, sure.
Dawson gets up off his chair, practically knocking the girl that was sitting on his lap onto the floor, stalks over toward me, grabs me, and pulls me into a kiss. A big, sloppy, wet kiss. An all-sorts-of-tongue kiss. A kiss I was totally not prepared for and am not enjoying in the least.
I pull away from him and run out the door.
Then I sit out in the hall and start to cry a little.
What am I doing here? I just want to go home. But I can’t. Maybe not ever.
Aiden slides down next to me. “Why are you crying?”
“Because he ruined my lips.” Oh. Why did I say that?
“How so?”
And I can’t lie to this boy. “They don’t taste like you anymore. They taste like whiskey and cigarettes. He’s a horrible kisser.”
“He’s drunk and sloppy.”
“You’re not.”
“Let’s get your friend, and I’ll walk you both home.” He seems like such a gentleman.
Or does he want to get me back to my room? Sneak in with me? No. We were alone. And he didn’t try anything. I don’t think he likes me.
He just wants me gone.
I guess he figured it out quick, like he said.
“You don’t have to do that. I can get us home. Plus, I get it. You already figured it out, right?”
“Figured what out?”
“You know. What you were saying about the one.”
“You’re so cute, and you’re making no sense. Come here.”
And I do. Straight to his lips. And get another long, slow, delicious kiss.
“Better?”
“Much better.”