He kisses me! He kisses me!
We are face to face and his lips are warm and gentle. They are small kisses at first, tentative, and then we are both tilting our heads; the kisses get longer. His hands – his talkative, expressive hands – curl at my waist and at my back, pulling me towards him and bridging the gap between us. He feels so warm and solid. When his tongue touches mine, I swear fireworks start going off inside of me. I can feel them ricocheting through my veins. He doesn’t taste like strawberries or breath-mints or Prosecco – he tastes like boy. Like Rhys.
If we were talkers, maybe we’d exchange whispers between kisses. Maybe he’d put his lips beside my ear and tell me I’m beautiful. But we speak with our bodies and our faces, and so it’s like we’re still having a conversation. I know what it means when he takes my hand and squeezes it; when he breaks the kiss to touch his nose to mine and smile. He touches my face like it’s something delicate. He doesn’t need to tell me that I’m beautiful or special or wanted. I can feel it in his touch.
How long do we kiss? I don’t even know. It is just me and Rhys under the streetlight (or spotlight, as I begin to think of it), KISSING. It’s possible people walk past us, but I honestly don’t even notice. If there’s a world outside the two of us, I don’t care.
What I learn about kissing: it’s fun. It’s hot. It’s brilliant. I could carry on doing it forever.
We finally break apart when it becomes impossible to ignore my phone ringing obnoxiously in my pocket. My breathing is all over the place, my chin feels like it’s been exfoliated and I’m not sure my heartbeat will ever return to normal.
I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I say breezily. My dad, I sign to Rhys, who nods, all smiles.
‘Hi, StefStef,’ Dad says. ‘Glad to know you’re alive.’
‘I’m just on my way home,’ I say.
‘I thought I was going to come and pick you up.’
‘Oh, well . . . that’s OK. Rhys is walking me home.’
There’s a long silence. ‘Is he?’ Dad’s voice is the oddest mix of jokey, nonchalant and horrified, as if I’m twelve years old instead of coming on seventeen.
We’re just kissing, I half want to say. No need to freak out just yet.
But of course I don’t. ‘Yeah, we’re almost back, actually. So I’ll see you soon, OK?’
‘OK, love,’ Dad says slowly. ‘Don’t make it too late?’
‘I won’t.’
When I hang up, Rhys smiles sheepishly at me. Do you need to get home?
I nod. Sorry.
Don’t be sorry! That’s my job. He gestures to himself, exaggeratedly gallant. I’m a gentleman.
I grin – sure – and lean forward for another kiss. I almost get lost in it again, but he guides me back, taking hold of my hand and pressing a final kiss on the side of my head.
Tem:
So, how did it go?
Steffi:
SEPTEMBER.
Ooh this sounds promising.
. . . or a disaster?
SHIT BRONS. REPLY TO ME.
HE LIKES ME
Woohoo!!!!!
Tem:
(Also, OBVS he does, you plank.)
Steffi:
HE KISSED ME
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
? ? ?
TELL ME EVERYTHING.
How did it happen?
Is he a good kisser?
HOW FAR DID YOU GO?
Oh screw this, I’m calling you.
YOU BETTER ANSWER.
[stefstef is online]
rhysespieces: ? ? ?
stefstef: hi ?
rhysespieces: just wanted to say goodnight stefstef: goodnight xxxx
rhysespieces: goodnight xxxx
rhysespieces: ?
stefstef: ?
[rhysespieces has logged off]
Tem is even more excited than I am. She comes tearing round to see me the following morning, her whole face alight.
‘OK, tell me everything,’ she commands, sitting cross-legged beside me on the bed. The bed I am still in, by the way. There are very few boundaries between me and Tem. ‘Everything.’
So I do. No detail is too small for her, no description too rambling. When I describe the expression on his face as I told him I liked him too, she almost combusts. I finally realize why she was so frustrated by my comparatively lacklustre response to her Karam-related excitement. This is what she wanted.
‘So are you together?’ she asks. ‘How did you leave things? This is very important.’
‘Define together,’ I say.
‘Together is not having to say “define together”,’ she says. ‘Together is “He asked me to be his girlfriend!” or “He declared undying love!” and so on.’
I laugh. ‘I’m quite glad he didn’t declare undying love, to be honest.’
‘You know what I mean. I say again – how did you leave things?’
‘He walked me home. Well, to the end of my road, so my dad couldn’t ambush him – my suggestion – and he kissed me goodbye. We said we’d see each other on Monday. And we had another goodnight kiss thing on jackbytes.’
She listens carefully and when I get to my final sentence she glows. ‘That’s like the equivalent of a goodnight phone call for the two of you, right?’
I smile. ‘Pretty much.’