Page 16 of My First Time Fling

He was still bracing himself on either side of me, but my hands were free, and I brought one to the side of his face, pulling him down tighter. He hummed as I rubbed his neck, and when his chest finally lowered onto mine, an electric current passed through my body.

Oh, this was good. This was very good.

Mark’s weight on top of me, his lips on mine, his skin underneath my fingertips—it was all perfect. Better than I’d imagined, because it was real. I didn’t understand how, but I wasn’t going to question it. I reached up with my other hand and drew him closer to me, and his whole body rubbed against mine until—

“Sorry,” he said, pulling back abruptly. He pushed himself up with his arms, then rocked back so he was sitting on his heels, looking down at me from the side. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” I said, scrambling up into a seated position. “Really, I don’t mind. I mean, I more than don’t mind, I actively un-mind. I liked it, I mean, in case that wasn’t clear. Wow, I’m doing a really bad job of this.”

“No, you’re fine,” Mark said, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head like he was arguing with someone. Me, or himself? I wasn’t sure. “I just…I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you definitely should have.” I cocked my head. “Unlessyoudidn’t want to. But as far asI’mconcerned, it was a good idea. Even if it does make you even more mysterious.”

I’d meant that last bit as a joke, but it had the opposite effect. Mark’s body went rigid, and a look of pain passed across his face. Dammit, what had I done? This wasn’t going the way I wanted it to go at all. I tried again. “What I meant was—”

“I have to go,” he said, interrupting me before I could get any further. He stood up abruptly, looking around the park like he was searching for an exit. “I just—I need to—I’m sorry.”

He took off, running back across the park like he hadn’t just run eight miles. Like someone was chasing him with depressing statistics. Like he was running away from something, or someone, that terrified him.

Like he was running away from me.

6

Mark

By the time I got home from the park, I felt like I was going to puke.

I stumbled up the steps and into Gigi’s house, grateful that her car wasn’t in the driveway and that she didn’t appear to be home. She’d take one look at me and want to talk, and while I normally loved spending time with her, I wasn’t sure I could form a coherent sentence right now.

I felt jittery, nervous. Like I was anticipating something, except it wasn’t anticipation at all. It was regret over something I’d just done. Something I wished I could take back. Something that was going to mess everything up.

I’d kissed Jesse.

Fuck.

I couldn’t decide if I should go upstairs and shower, go get a glass of water, or go call Jesse and apologize. If I showered, I’d just keep thinking about this. If I tried to get water, I was liable to break the glass, I was so amped up. And if I called Jesse—well, if I called him, I’d have to actually talk to him. Which freaked me out.

So instead of doing any one of those things, I paced in circles in the hallway like a hamster on a wheel.

Why had I done that? And what the hell was I supposed to do now?

My breath was getting shorter, coming in shallow bursts. It was worse than anything I’d felt on our run today, and I could tell this wasn’t normal. Fuck, I was starting to panic. That wasn’t good.

My eyes darted wildly around the hall, bouncing from the yellowed floral wallpaper to a paint-by-numbers landscape Gigi had probably hung up in the 1970s. The colors were swimming before my eyes.

I stumbled to the foot of the stairs at the end of the hall and collapsed on the lowest step, hanging my head between my knees. Deep breaths, in and out. Everything was okay. I was going to be okay. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

The ridiculous thing was that it wasn’t the kiss itself that had me freaking out. The kiss…the kiss was one of those movie kisses, where there should have been strings swelling and little bluebirds fluttering around us. If I pictured it happening to two other people, or even happening between me and Jesse in another life, it would have been nice. More than nice.

It had been hot. Hotter than I’d expected, to tell the truth, even with all the furtive jerk-off sessions I’d had over the past week where Jesse had snuck into my mind. I could still feel his soft lips moving under mine, his hands reaching up to pull me closer. It turned out he wanted me as badly as I’d wanted him. Who knew?

Sure, it was a little weird, kissing a guy. New. Different. But a good kind of different. Regardless of what it meant about my sexuality—I was still nowhere near ready to unpack that—I knew that given the chance, I’d want to do it again. Do that, and more.

Butthatwas the problem.

Because it wasn’t just a kiss. Not to me, anyway. To me, it felt like more.

The fact of the matter was that I liked Jesse. A lot. And I could see myself starting tolikelike him, the more time I spent with him. Which was all fine and dandy for me. But not for him.

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