Page 101 of Tell Me When It's Over

Swallowing my tears, I choke out the words I’ve been trying to hold back for months without realizing it. “Please, Kyler.”

He curses and draws my face closer, our noses brushing lightly against one another’s in anticipation, hesitating with the ghost of his lips hovering over mine.

He wants this.

He doesn’t.

He fights it.

He loses.

“Fuck,” he rasps, before cupping one hand around the back of my neck and pulling me toward him, closing the space between us until his lips experimentally press against mine.

I sigh against his pillowy lips and let the first tear of adrenaline fall, praying no more follow because this is what I’ve been dreaming about. This is what we’ve been skirting around in almost moments—on the couch when we watch TV, in his bed where I sometimes fall asleep, in the car when we’re holding hands and singing along to whatever is on the radio.

There’s hardness and pain, and then softness and leisurely peace like he’s trying to heal the damage done like he’s the sole person to blame for what’s been building between us.

My fingertips lower until they dig into the fleshy part of his cotton covered shoulders, hoping if I hold onto him tighter then the moment won’t end. His tongue drags along my bottom lip, the velvety caress stealing my breath until I find myself parting my lips in anticipation for more.

Then I feel it. The hesitation.

I feel the pain.

The uncertainty.

Thump, thump, thump.

The script slips from my hold and crashes onto the floor as his lips draw back instead of deepening, hovering over mine with nothing but his breath caressing me. My top lip is nipped, then my bottom, before it’s rolled into his mouth. I breathe him in, trying to contemplate the next move—to make it myself or wait because the moment his fingers twitch against the back of my neck, tightening in indecision, in thoughts I’m too afraid to think about, I know the truth.

I’m obliterated the moment he pulls back, because of course he’s the first one to withdraw, reasoning with the reality of our situation. He’s the one who stops it from going on, from making it more than two people helping someone they care about finish a scene.

“Tell me when,” he rasps, forehead resting on mine, one hand still on my face, the other raising until it threads in my hair.

I know what he means.

Tell him when to stop.

I say nothing.

Nothing at all.

But Mia does. “Wow.”

It’s then we realize the enormity of what transpired.

We didn’t follow the scene.

We didn’t stick to the script.

My whole body burns in a mixture of embarrassment, anxiety, and something far deeper when I turn to Mia, whose watching us with wide eyes and parted lips. The gray orbs I meet are full of surprise, awe, and something…something I don’t let myself see as her lips ever so slowly rise at the corners.

All of our attention goes to the ringing cell phone, which I pull out of my pocket to break the silent stare down, the knowing smirk on Mia’s face, and the pained one on Kyler’s.

Chase. The boy I’m seeing. The only one I should be kissing.

Kyler rakes a hand through his short brown hair, voice hoarse as he says, “You should take that,” before walking out of the room.

I blink at Mia, fear in my eyes.

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