Page 45 of Friends Don't Kiss

I sit on the bed and lift my fingers to her curls. Their texture astounds me. Without the product she puts on to make her hair stick up like shards, they’re soft as silk. “I’m glad you’re telling me,” I say, not recognizing my own voice. Kiara’s vulnerability is hitting me hard, in the best way.

And then I realize: she’s had no other men. Although none of this will make it in the story I’ll tell the grandkids, my heart swells. If she’s ready to give herself to me (which I think is what she’s getting at), it confirms that she wants to build something with me.

I take her hand in mine and rub my thumb on her palm. A little bit of pink tints her cheeks. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I tell her.

“I’m not ashamed,” she answers a little defensively, slipping from my grasp to pick at her cuticle. “I just… thought I could ask for your help.”

I’m not sure what help she’s talking about. Does she need explanations? She knew exactly where her relevant body parts were, and how they factored into the whole experience, earlier. “Sure… what-what do you mean? What kind of help?”

She takes a deep breath. “I thought maybe, with us being friends… like… intimate friends…”

I’m getting irritated at her usage of the wordfriends, but I give her the space she needs to tell me what it is that’s bothering her so much. “Yeah?” I say softly to encourage her.

Another deep breath and she lifts her beautiful eyes to me. “I thought we could, like, you know…” She takes a deep breath and the rest comes out super fast, “sleep together just once so you could get it out of your system and I could get it over with.”

Years ago, Owen Parker dared me to jump into the Emerald Creek right after the ice had broken. It must have been March. The edges of the river were still frozen, the ice hanging onto the banks. The middle was raging with spring melt. I was at that age when my brain wasn’t fully formed—far from it. When I hit the water, I didn’t feel anything other than a huge weight constricting my chest, and a force so powerful I could barely move my limbs.

Today, sitting on that bed with Kiara asking me toget it out of my system—so she could get it over with—I feel worse.

Way more stupid. Way more blind. And maybe really this time, dying.

I bolt from the bed and go to the window. Big fat snowflakes are twirling to the ground. Maybe we should skip brunch and make it home before it gets worse.

“Colt?” Kiara asks, her voice small.

I can’t bring myself to be angry at her. Staring at the window, I say, “You should be in love with the man who takes your virginity.”

I hear her huff behind my back.

Turning to look at her, I add, “It’s… it’s too intimate for a friend to do, Kiara.”

She stands, runs her hand in her hair, and goes into the bathroom, leaving the door open. “And what you did earlier wasn’t intimate?” she shouts.

The whole place doesn’t need to know what’s happening here. I leave the window to stand at the bathroom door. She tilts a bottle of hair product, fills her palm with foam, then spreads it all over her soft curls. “What’s the difference?” she asks, her voice lower now that our gazes are meeting in the mirror.

The difference is I thought something was happening, earlier. When she took comfort in my embrace when her sister was being bitchy. The way her body relaxed into mine, like I was all she needed. The way she didn’t swat my hand away once Maya was gone but instead leaned on me.

The difference is from the tender and passionate way she played with my hair when I made her come, I thought we were really going somewhere, the two of us, without saying the words.

The difference is I didn’t think I was being used—not to that extent. Just a tool to pop her cherry.

The difference is I hadn’t fully admitted to myself the depth of my feelings for her.

“It’s just not the same,” I end up saying.

“They say you never forget your first time,” she says with a playful smile. “This way I’ll never forget you.”

At least the river wasn’t twisting a dagger in my heart.

fifteen

Kiara

Thevibebetweenusshifts dramatically, but for the life of me I can’t point my finger on what happened. One minute he insists on giving me an orgasm, the next he’s all offended about taking my virginity.

“Well, I’d never forget you anyway, Kiara,” he bites at my attempt to make light of my apparently offensive request. “What, are you planning on leaving? Going somewhere, that you’re talking about forgetting people?” There’s a harshness to his tone that sets me off. What’s up with him suddenly? I thought guys had a thing for virgins. I thought… I don’t know what to think anymore.

I shrug. This training in Paris might pan out and lead to something bigger. Who’s to say? I might end up staying there. Or I might have an offer in…maybe Italy. Or Australia. You only live once.

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