Page 32 of Insatiable

“I’m going to bed,” my sister says with a grimace.

“You want me to keep you warm?” Base asks.

She fakes a smile. “I’d rather burn in hell, but thanks.”

Everyone laughs, but I stay silent, watching the flames and wondering if it’s possible to disappear. Breathing heavily through my nose, I glance at Stacey getting to her feet.

Oh shit. This is happening.

Nope. I can’t fucking kiss her.

I know I’m turning the brightest shade of red, hands shaking.

I watch the girl I’ve obsessed over since I was fifteen strut towards the tent with no care in the world, her hips swaying, hair falling down her back – frozen until Base taps me.

It’s only a kiss. I’m fucking old enough to handle a kiss.

I’ll know what to do. I’m not going to make a cunt of myself by messing up. She’s probably kissed loads of people, and this is nothing.

I think I’m going to pass out.

I follow, thankful for the music playing – it drowns out the thoughts going wild in my head. Stacey goes in first, and I zip the tent up again once I’m inside.

Without hesitation, Stacey sits, facing me. “We can pretend if you want. I know you’d rather be doing this with anyone else. I won’t be offended. Really.”

Well I’m fucking offended.

The view I have is delightful as her dress rides up her thighs, but before I can pitch in my shorts, I drop down to my haunches, mirroring her. “If you’re scared, you can admit it.” I don’t know how I manage to say that without throwing up. “Do you want to pretend?”

She clears her throat, fidgeting her fingers. “We have two minutes. I think thirty seconds have already gone by.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Okay,” she counters. “Is it a full kiss?”

“Tylarsaid ‘make out with Stacey’.”

I want to move the strand of hair from her face, but I fist my hands instead.

“Don’t laugh,” she says, chewing on her lip, “but I haven’t done this before.”

I inwardly sigh in relief, inching my body forward until our knees touch. “Neither have I.” Stacey’s gaze widens, but I continue before she can talk. “Just close your eyes.”

“Don’t lie to make me feel better. We all know about your reputation.”

I narrow my eyes. “Meaning?”

She raises a shoulder. “You know what I mean.” Then she shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Any reputation I have like that is a lie,” I say, turning the setting of the torch to a soft glow. “A lot of people talk shit about me to get themselves seen or to get a story. I’m in the same boat as you here. Okay?”

She swallows, and I watch her throat move. “Okay,” she quietly responds.

“Close your eyes and stop being nervous,” I say as my entire body fights a tremble.

Her eyelids close, dark lashes, thick and long, settling under her eyes on the soft skin. “Don’t laugh if I do it wrong.”

For a second, I look at her, as if I haven’t a million times already, allowing myself to study each freckle close up, her perfect cheekbones, the way her dark hair curls around her face and cascades around her. She licks her lips, and my eyes are drawn to the act. They’re naturally plump, a deep shade of pink, and she always bites the bottom one.

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