Page 68 of The Season
“I… I want…” I swallow, my mouth suddenly feeling dry.
I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before. Not really.
Not my parents, all the times they told me what classes I should take, what I should major in, what clubs I should join. Not Steve—the only serious boyfriend I’ve ever had—who was quick to tell me what he thought I needed, what he wanted.
Maybe it’s a question I should have thought to ask myself.
That thought has me feeling strangely uncomfortable, and I get the sudden urge to change the subject. To talk about something else. Anything else.
“So, you guys don’t think I’m a slut?” I ask by way of deflection, a forced half smile quirking my lips. “After everything that I’ve just told you?”
I mean it as a joke, but Seth’s expression darkens, and he leans across the table, bringing his face closer to mine. “I don’t ever want to hear you call yourself that again,” he growls, his voice low, almost menacing.
I shudder, though not quite from fear, and Antoine tightens his hold around me.
Antoine must shoot Seth a chastising look, because Seth gives an apologetic grimace, then adds, his tone gentler: “You didn’t do anything wrong, Lily. There’s nothing wrong with being nonmonogamous. There’s certainly nothing wrong with being unsure about your feelings, with pursuing things with people before you feel attracted to them. Look…” his cheeks pinken for some reason, and he sits back, his gaze dropping to his hands. “From what you’ve told me, it sounds like you’re demisexual or something like it...”
I nod, biting the inside of my cheek. He’s mentioned that before, weeks ago. Since then, the Google research I’ve done more or less aligns with what he said.Demisexual. “Probably,” I acknowledge weakly.
His gaze flits back up to mine, his eyes widening with earnestness. “So how on earth would you know if you were attracted to someone without getting to know them first? And just because someone is into you—that doesn’t mean you owe them anything. You shouldn’t ever feel guilty about not feeling attraction to someone—or about feeling attraction, for that matter.”
I swallow, my heart thundering wildly in response to his words.
Because shit if that isn’t exactly what I’ve been doing the past couple days—feeling guilty about wanting Eddie and Matty and Liam. And even Antoine, though I’d never make him feel uncomfortable by admitting it. And Seth… well, I don’t feel that urgent heat with him, but there’s certainly an ache behind my ribs, a longing to be close to him, those first tethers of connection threatening to be stronger than ordinary friendship.
“So, what?” I rasp. “Should I just kiss all the boys I’m into?”
I mean for it to come out sounding sarcastic, but with the way my heart is thundering in my chest, it comes out like a breathy sort of plea.
“Why not?” Seth replies evenly. He pauses, then gives a wry smile. “Well, maybe not all of them. Just the good ones.”
A laugh bursts out of me, a strange mixture of relief and longing rushing through me. If only it was that easy—if only I could just follow my feelings like that.
I give Seth a teasing smile. “You’reone of the good ones.”
I turn to face Antoine, my cheeks heating when the move unexpectedly brings my face so close to his, I can see the dark brown specks in his emerald eyes, the faintest smattering of freckles on his nose, nearly invisible against his dark amber skin. “You too,” I murmur, dropping my gaze, unable to handle the intensity of his eyes on me. “But I don’t think either of you guys want me kissing you.”
“No?” Antoine says, his voice raspy. “Who says I don’t?”
My heart stutters in my chest, stealing the air from my lungs and my eyes fly up to meet his own. Antoine’s arm is still slung around my shoulders, keeping me close to him, and he reaches up to stroke my cheek with the back of his free hand. I can feel his knuckles trembling against my skin, but his green eyes are blazing with almost willful determination.
“But… you, you’re…” I trail off, the stupidity of what I’m about to say thankfully registering before the words come out.
Antoine never told me he was gay. I just made assumptions.
He shakes his head, cheeks darkening deeply as he bites his lower lip. “I want you, Lily. I have for a while now.” His gaze drops, a shaky breath stuttering out of him. “I should have told you before but…”
Warmth pulses through me, an aching pull that has my vision momentarily blurring.He wants me.
For weeks now, I’ve been shoving down my growing feelings for him, forcing myself to focus on the friendship we’ve been building, to not get carried away by each innocent touch. Now, it’s like a dam bursting, like an avalanche breaking through the tree line, and every repressed desire comes rolling through at once, powerful and dangerous and completely unstoppable.
With a moan that catches in my throat, I’m surging forward, closing the small distance between us, crashing my lips against his. The fingertips that had been brushing my cheek move to tangle in my hair, pulling me closer to him.
Soft lips move against mine, gentle, tentative, pliant, and then a groan rumbles in his chest, an almost pained sound. The arm around my shoulders dips, sliding along the length of my spine, pulling me toward him.
I break our kiss with a gasp, barely pausing to blink at him in wild-eyed hunger before I’m climbing onto his lap, my thighs straddling his waist, one knee resting on the edge of the rickety wooden chair.
“Lily,” he rasps, and then he’s pulling my face back toward his.
