I can’t stop squeezing my hand into a fist because I can’t stop looking at and thinking of Lionel, so as the game officially starts, I reach for Emil’s hand. He startles for a moment and it sends relief flooding through me. This is all still new to him, too. We’re both figuring out what we are. He looks over and smiles.
Even as the crisp, cold beer starts to soften the edges of the room, it’s impossible to relax. I’m keeping an eye on Lionel, but I’m also watching Rafaela. I haven’t seen them together since he first met her at the shop, and everything she told me the other day rings true in their actions. They’re always attached to each other in some way: Lionel grabbing her hand or Rafaela standing behind him with her arms around his waist, her cheek flat against his back; after he takes his turn at flip cup he swivels around and they kiss for a few beats longer than necessary. They’re so comfortable with each other, but it doesn’t seem honest, their relationship. She doesn’t even know about his meds.
The first round goes to Justin’s team, which also happens to be Lion’s team. Rafaela steps back to let someone else take her place and then she’s standing next to me, saying she needs an escort to the bathroom. Emil doesn’t let go of my hand, though, and that sick feeling comes back when I realize I have to introduce them.
“Emil, this is Rafaela. Lion’s… and we work together.” I couldn’t say it. Girlfriend. I don’t know if they’ve said it yet. But even if they haven’t, anyone who sees them together would know the word applies. “Rafaela, this is Emil.”
“Nice to meet you,” he says, politely holding out his hand.
She smiles at him, her mouth twisted to the side. “Oh, I think I’ve heard about you.”
He glances at me before shooting a nervous grin her way. “You have?”
But Rafaela doesn’t respond. She takes my arm and whisks me away, and I barely have time to look over my shoulder, to mouth Sorry to Emil before we’re heading inside and up the stairs. We stop at the doorway to the master bedroom and I fumble my way after her in the dark until she mercifully flips the switch in the bathroom, flooding my path with light.
I step through the doorway to find a marble bathroom with a gleaming shower stall big enough for five people, and double sinks under the mirror. The towels hanging from the rack are impossibly fluffy and monogrammed.
“So that’s the guy?” Rafaela asks, lifting her maxiskirt before she plops down on the toilet. Her underwear slides down to her ankles, pooling under the hem of the skirt. “Emil?”
I lean against the sinks and face the shower, talking over the sound of her peeing. “Yeah, Emil. He’s…”
“Cute?” I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yeah.” My mouth turns up, too. “I don’t know what we are. I’ve known him my whole life, practically, but something changed when I came back. And I told him I’m not totally straight.”
“He’s chill about it?”
“Completely.”
“Well, lucky for you.” She flushes and walks to the sink to wash her hands. “One of the scariest things about that Palisades dude was that he flipped after I told him I’m not totally straight. He started getting super possessive and would watch me when we were around other girls to see if I was checking them out.”
“Wow. Have you seen him lately?”
“He’s been scarce, thank God. Although he did send a text today.”
She dries her hands on one of the fancy towels hanging by the sink and fluffs her curls with her fingers. Then she reaches into the pocket of her skirt and pulls out a tube of lipstick. When she clicks it open, I see the purple shade that I so love on her.
I don’t realize I’m staring until she stops, midapplication, and looks at me in the mirror. “What?”
“Nothing.” I don’t really have to pee but I walk over to the toilet to escape her gaze.
Rafaela is quiet as I flush and wash my hands. She carefully scrapes the excess color from the edge of her lips with the side of her fingernail before blotting with a tissue. Then she says, “Come here.” She’s brandishing the lipstick in one hand while studying my face.
I stand in front of her, almost disturbed by the vibrancy of her gold-flecked eyes when we’re this close. She touches the center of my top lip, briefly rests her finger in the little groove right under my nose ring, and I close my eyes out of instinct, like the moment I know I’m about to be kissed. I hold my breath while she glides the tip of her finger around the edge of my mouth.
“You have great lips,” she says, and I finally open my eyes, finally exhale.
“I do?” My voice is shaky, and I know she notices, by the way she smiles.
“They’re full, perfectly shaped. Makeup artist’s dream.” She touches my face then, but only so she can angle my chin where she needs it to be. “Don’t move.” She holds up the lipstick and slowly paints the color along my bottom lip. I close my eyes again. Partly because it seems like the thing to do when someone is putting makeup on your face, but mostly because I want to savor the soft but assured touch of her hands on my skin.
She does the top lip and then goes over my whole mouth again with the lipstick. When I open my eyes, she’s holding out a fresh tissue. “Blot.”
We look in the mirror together with our matching lips, and I think how easy it would be to kiss her now. How my brother or Emil wouldn’t have to know. How easily I could hide the evidence on our equally stained lips.
“That color looks amazing on you,” she says.
“Yeah?” I silently agree, though I think it looks better on her.
“Emil will love it.” She steps away then, breaking the temporary spell that made me think I’d actually be brave enough to kiss her, to trace the elegant lines of her flowered tattoo. She pockets the lipstick. “Ready?”
I nod, but she stops before she opens the door. Turns to face me.
“I’ve never cheated on anyone I’ve been with,” she says carefully.
I frown. “Neither have I.”
“And I’m not in the habit of coming between family members.”
I almost drop my beer. She stares and stares like she wants me to say something, but the only thing I can come up with is “I never said you were.”
“Sometimes I say things out loud when I need a reminder. So… I don’t cheat. Okay?”
But I think it’s a lie. I think that if I’d made a move, she would have kissed me back. That we might be pressed against the cool marble sinks, touching and still kissing and not just wanting. But she’s with Lionel and I am sort of with Emil. So I nod again and follow her, clutching so tightly to my beer I’m surprised the cup doesn’t splinter in my hands.
I meet up with Emil again downstairs, and we walk out to the keg to refill our cups. We get in line behind two girls with tattoos that cover more skin than Rafaela’s, and I’m trying to discern what they are when Emil nudges my shoulder and says, “Hey.”
I look up at him. “Hey.”
“New lip stuff?”
I nod. I don’t normally wear anything so dark and I wondered if he’d notice—especially that it’s the same shade as Rafaela’s. “Do you like it?”
He kisses me in response. Soft and sweet and unexpected, square on the lips. I kiss him back, and when we pull away, I smile.
“What was that for?”