Page 49 of Glad You Exist

I can no longer hide behind the guise of friendship and if she doesn’t feel the same way?

There’s no going back to the way we were.

Not even to the way we were before we stopped talking.

Because to me, she is it. The One.

Yeah, I know, I only just turned eighteen, but I’ve always known that she’s the one for me.

Knowing someone your whole life can give you that clarity.

“Brad.” This time her voice comes out stronger.

Air rushes out of me when I feel her fingers travel down the length of my arm, leaving a fiery path of goosebumps in their wake, down to my fingertips.

Liz tugs me until I’m facing her.

She tightens her grip on my hand, compelling me to look at her.

The confusion is still evident in it, but her face reflects a number of emotions that give her away. She isn’t as oblivious as I thought.

Maybe—just maybe—she feels the same way. Or at the very least feels something.

“What are you really trying to say?”

Her voice quivers like she’s trying to pull herself together.

I know what she’s asking. What she wants to hear.

But I have become paralyzed by the moment, aching for something else.

I search her face for any indication that she isn’t ready for this, but I see none of that.

She doesn’t shy away from how I’m looking at her right now.

Not even when my eyes lower to her lips.

I hear her breath quicken but she doesn’t let go of my hand or move away.

Instead, she moves her gaze lower too.

I take that as my green light. I curl my free hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer to me. I slide my thumb over her chin, tipping it up and before I lose the nerve, I do what I’ve only dreamt of doing and kiss her.

Right here in my bedroom.

On my eighteenth birthday.

Happy Birthday to me.

A startled gasp causes her lips to part, but I reign it in. As much as I want to devour these soft lips that have dominated my every daydream, I resign myself to taking it slow.

Because there is still a chance that she doesn’t feel the same way about me.

And if it comes to that, then at least I won’t wonder what she tastes like because now I know.Fuckif it isn’t better than I imagined. She tastes like my every hope and dream.

She shivers, then as she places a hand on my bare chest. I’m reminded that I’m not wearing a shirt and I’ve been sweating so I pull back. I rest my forehead on hers.

My breath fans her face when I whisper to her why I stopped. “I’m sweaty and I probably stink.”

---