Page 81 of Pippin & Nacho

My hands shook as I took in her image, feeling a strange sort of grief over someone I’d never even met. The grief was probably more from never getting a chance to meet her.

She was at school on the floor next to the lockers, doing schoolwork with her friends. Her notebook sat on her lap, and a textbook lay open on the floor. She had a big smile on her face as she looked at the camera under thick lashes. She was beautiful. Isaiah was right. I looked just like her, from her thick, curly hair that was dark brown like mine but much longer. My eyes and mouth were his, but I had her sharper features and shorter stature.

Isaiah stood straight and grabbed the keys from his pocket. “Can I give you and Sam a ride home?”

“We’ll skate home.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

We stood there for an awkward moment before he started to walk away, but then he stopped and turned. “Call me sometime.”

“I will.”

“I’m so grateful I finally got to meet you, Nate. You look good, so handsome… so much like her.”

With that, he was gone.

Sam’s strong arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me back against his chest, had pulled the tears out of me. The sudden burst of emotions grew suffocating, a two-hundred-pound weight on my chest. I turned to face him as he gathered me in his arms. My fingers clung to his back as I sobbed, uncaring if it was in public.

“It’s going to be okay, Star. We’ll talk about this at home, but… are you going to see him again?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“He looks like he’s hurting.”

“He is.”

“Good. Even if his intentions were pure, you still suffered.”

And there was not a damn thing we could do about it except to move forward or move on.

Nate sat on the couch with his legs crossed over each other, resting on our makeshift coffee table with his head back and eyes closed. He’d been like that for a good hour, lost in thought after he met with his dad today. He wasn’t napping because he kept checking his phone.

What could I do to make Nate feel better? Did he feel bad? Or was he just lost in thought? I wanted to do something for him. I itched to do something as I paced in the kitchen, watching him.

Would he like to skate? No, if so, he’d be out there by now. Maybe we could find something to watch on TV. Nah, he’d already be watching it if he wanted.

Then it hit me.

With clenched fists and a deep breath, I walked over to Nate, lifted his feet, and put them on the floor. His eyes popped open, looking at me curiously. “What’s going on?”

Without saying a word, I spread his legs apart and dropped to my knees. I grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss.

Our eyes slid closed as Nate moaned into my mouth. His warm and soft tongue explored my mouth. Kissing him was the best, even better than sex. Sex was amazing, and I loved it, but kissing Nate was everything. It was ownership filled with promises and vows. When I imagined being with him all those years, I usually envisioned us kissing. We would be lying in bed, holding each other, and just making out as our hands traveled across our naked bodies.

His skin was always so smooth, smoother than mine, with less hair. He had three moles on the inside of his left thigh and one on his right thigh, tucked close to his sac. I’d only discovered them once while I sucked him down.

Nate pulled away, gasping for air. His lips glistened with saliva, and they tugged at the corners into a smile. “What was that for?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“Nah.”

I slid my hands under his T-shirt to touch that smooth skin of his, running my hands across the expanse of his chest, fingers dancing over his nipples.

I pushed up his shirt and yanked it over his head. My hands continued to map out every inch of him. I was still in awe that we were together now more than best friends, and it wasn’t a dream or fantasy. I would never take it for granted.

“I love your skin,” I whispered.

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