Under the Lights (29 page)

“But aren't you bi? I mean,
don't
you like guys?”

“I am, and I do, and the fact that she fucking erased that—that she acted like I'd been living some lie with exes I'd genuinely liked—didn't exactly endear her to me, either. But she flat-out hated that I liked girls, and I didn't
want
the fact that I also like guys to make it better. I wanted her to understand that I wanted
her
,
but she was so hung up on what it all
meant
instead of how it all
felt
and…” She exhales deeply. “Anyway. We had a big blow-up and stopped talking. She told our friends that I was gay and had come on to her and…” She waves her hand. “I mean, you can imagine.”

“And you didn't tell them the truth?”

She shrugs. “I guess I could have, but the shit that went down between me and her seemed so secondary to what I'd figured out about myself. And I do like girls. I didn't want to take that back. I didn't wanna be all confused and freaked out like she was. I wasn't gonna pretend about anything like she did. And I haven't.” She takes a deep breath.

“But I can't be with pretenders, either. I can't be with girls who are confused and freaked out. I get that you are and why you are, and I swear I'm not judging you. But I can't step backward into that life. Not even for you.”

“I understand,” I say softly, and I really, really do. I don't want to be that confused girl. I don't wanna be freaked out. Hearing this only makes me crazier about Bri, for being out and proud about who she is. I want to be that girl, too, and I hate that this is a thing about me no one except Josh knows. “I haven't told Ally,” I admit. “But I will. Whether I come out publicly or not, I'm going to tell her.”

Bri puts down the bottle and wraps her arms around herself, looking more fragile than I've ever seen her. “The thing is, Van, if you do, you'll never be able to pretend this never happened. She'll always know you're faking it whenever you're out with Zander or whoever. You can't go back with an ‘oops, never mind.' That's how it is.”

“I know. That's sort of the point.” I run my finger over the bumpy seam of the armchair, following the
path with my gaze. There's no way I can look Bri in the eye for this. “But Ally and I have a thing about our, um… our firsts. We weren't even speaking last year when she lost her virginity to Liam, and she still told me immediately. And I know I'm screwing everything up, and that I have no idea where to go from here, but the fact that I've found someone I'd
want
to be my first… that's the kind of thing we tell each other.” I snort a little as I dig a nail under a loose stitch. “Guess I really don't believe in the whole ‘purity before marriage' concept. For me, I mean.”

There's no response from the couch, and my heart sinks as I wonder just how badly I've freaked her out with that. But it's out there, and what's more is that it's true. I want to be with Bri with every fiber of my being, and though I know it's not in our future, the fact that I feel that way at all just seems so incredibly… significant.

Finally, the silence becomes too loud for me to bear, and I look up to see her staring back at me. She doesn't look horrified, or repulsed, or even scared.

She looks awed.

“That's really how you feel about me?” she asks, so quietly I can barely hear, but just loud enough to raise goose bumps all up and down my body.

“I'm not trying to push you into anything by saying that,” I add quickly. “I know why you don't want to be together, and I get it and respect it, I promise. But I am so, so tired of pretending. I know it's selfish, but just this once, I need to be honest about how I feel. Even if this is the only time I get to say it. I need you to know how I wish things were and how much I care about you and—”
Want you.
I can't say the words, but I hope they're coming out loud and clear. Judging by the way
her cheeks flush and those light-green eyes smolder, I'm thinking they do.

“Thanks for that.” Her voice is still so soft, so quiet, I have no idea what she's thinking. And then the look in her eyes shifts, like she's made up her mind about something, and she stands.

I know I'm watching her leave for what's probably the last time, and there's a distinct dagger-in-the-heart feeling as I walk her to the door. “I'm sorry,” I can't help saying for the millionth time as I follow behind.

Her hand reaches for the knob, but she doesn't turn the handle; she turns the lock. “Don't be,” she says, taking my hand and twining her fingers with mine. “Please, please don't be.” And then she wraps her other arm around my neck and kisses me so deeply that everything else on my shoulders—on earth—falls away. And then I'm walking backward toward my bedroom, pulling her as our lips meet over and over, taking care to make sure I'm using only enough force to guide and none to pressure.

We slip onto my bed easily, like it'd been waiting for us, like this had always been the plan.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly, and I'm so drugged from kissing her that it takes me a few seconds to realize she's talking about her fingers, trailing down my body, gently stroking every curve on their way down.

“Uh huh,” I manage as the tip of her nose brushes my earlobe, her breath warm on my neck. Her mouth covers mine again, and God, when did making out get so dizzying? I swear, I've done this a million times, but it's never felt like this—not with Zander, not with anyone.

Now that she's drawn my attention to her fingers, I can't help noticing everywhere they travel—up my shirt, over my bra…every touch is so slow, so gentle, so careful. It feels like she's afraid I'll bolt any second, change my mind, and declare that I don't like girls after all.

I shift on the bed, trapping her hand in my shirt but freeing my mouth to speak. “Bri, I want this. I
mean
this. You know that, right?”

She bites her lip, smiling sheepishly. It's adorable. But I want to be the one biting her lip. “I guess it still feels a little surreal. And scary.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “You're scared? Hi, you're the one who's done this before.”

“Yeah, and you haven't, which is kind of a big deal,” she says softly. “I just wanna make sure you're okay.”

“I'm okay.”

“Okay, then.” She smiles against my lips, and then we're kissing again, and her hand slides back down my shirt to tug at the hem. We break for her to pull it over my head and toss it on the floor, and I do the same with hers, taking the time to graze her skin, her curves, that tiny little tummy that's such a turn-on I can barely breathe. All I can think is how soft this all feels, how different, how perfect. So perfect I forget to be nervous when she unhooks my bra and slides it down my arms. So perfect I don't even have a moment to be self-conscious when she looks at me—really looks at me—and murmurs, “God, you're beautiful,” before kissing me again. And again. And again.

And then her fingertips are traveling down, down, down.

“Is this okay?” she murmurs.

I open my mouth to say yes, but I'm not sure it is. I think it is. And when her fingers brush the right
spot over the fly of my jean skirt, it's obvious my body thinks it's plenty okay.

But there's no going back after that, is there? If we keep going, if we take this further, I feel like that makes it official. Not just me and Bri, but everything. That I like girls. That I'm—

“Guess not,” she says, but she's smiling as she slides her hand back up to my waist, settling it in the curve there. “See? Only what you're okay with, Park. Always. I promise.”

When she kisses me this time, it's gentler, a step back. And I know it's not what I want. This girl—this fun and crazy and thoughtful girl, this careful girl, this girl who's making my entire body tingle with nothing but kisses and fingertips on my skin—does things to my head and my heart I didn't even know were possible. I don't want to push her back because of a label, because I'm scared. I want the fact that I've finally figured out what I want to
matter
. I've spent so much of my life playing someone else, and tonight, with her, I'm just me.

“It's okay,” I whisper, though I'm trembling, and I know she can feel it. “It is. Please.”

“You're shaking.”

“I know. I'm a little terrified,” I admit. “But I swear, I want to.”

“Then we will, at some point.” She kisses my collarbone, and it's nice, but it feels like she's comforting me or something.

I don't want to be comforted.

I want to know what I've been missing.

And just like that, the shaking stops. “Bri. Please.” My voice sounds ragged, breathy, just short of begging. Embarrassingly desperate. Which is exactly how I feel.

“Jesus, Park.” She'd been bracing herself over me on an elbow, but now she collapses on my side, laughing into the crook of my neck. “I'm trying to be noble here, but you're killing me.”

“Good.”

She rolls up and places her palms on the mattress, one on either side of my head. Those light-green eyes that used to be so unsettling are blazing as they meet mine. “Really?” she says flatly.

“Really.”

“Really.”

“Real—”

Her mouth crashes down on mine, and I know even before her hand finds my thigh and starts a slow slide up the inside that there is definitely no going back.

I focus on the soft warmth of her mouth, the way her tongue is sweeping mine, while her fingers forge a path of fire up to the lace edge of my boyshorts.
Don't stop
, I think as she slides just the tips of her fingers beneath them.
Don't
—

My entire body arches off the bed as she brushes against me, and my moan is pathetic against the lips that are still pinning me down. They curve into that smile I know so well, and she nips at my lower lip. Her voice is huskier than I've ever heard it when she says, “Huh. Guess you weren't kidding about wanting to.”

I want to come back with a smartass reply, but the truth is my brain is a fog. For all her teasing, when her eyes flit down my body and then back up, I can see the wonder in them. She may like to tease, but I know this means as much to her as it does to me. So I give up and let my eyes flutter closed again, letting the rhythmic stroking of her fingertips soothe me until I can gather myself.

And then she asks, “Still okay?” sounding genuinely worried I might say it's not. But it's so, so much better than okay. Especially when she asks.

Words are still failing me, but I reach down and tug up my skirt, giving her better access—the only response I can manage right now. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, and then I feel her fingers slide free.

My eyelids flutter open. “I wasn't—” The rest of the words die on my tongue when I feel her fingers curling against my waistband. She wasn't stopping; she was undressing me. Completely.

It shouldn't be a big deal; I wear bikinis on set all the time, get photographed in next to nothing, have to change in front of people constantly. Even getting bikini waxed every two weeks on the dot is a standard occupational hazard.

But this is so not that.

And still…

I lift my hips off the bed, and her eyes never leave mine as she slides the skirt and boyshorts free—not even when they get stuck on my ankle on the way off, and we both laugh, just a little, breathless.

And then she's kissing me again, and her hand is there again, soft and cool and teasing as it strokes and circles until I'm so dizzy I swear I might just pass out. Finally, I turn away so I can reclaim my mouth. “Just do it already.”

She laughs. “Well, that's romantic.”

“You know what I mean.” I sound ridiculously helpless, and it makes her smile widen, just enough to show that dimple. “Bri, just…”

“Yeah,” she says, the hand that's stroking me stilling while the other one sweeps damp black strands of my hair off my face. “I know what you mean.”

This time, when her mouth takes mine, her finger slowly enters me too, as gentle as anything she's ever done. But my body's had enough gentle, as much as I appreciate the gesture. I arch into her hand, and my first thought is,
More
. Or maybe I actually say it aloud, because the next thing I know, a second finger has joined the first, and oh
God
this is what I've been missing, what everyone has been talking about while I haven't had a fucking clue, while I've been worrying that I'm some sort of defect of nature around Ally and Liam, or Josh and…whoever that day's prize is.

This. This. This.

I slip a hand into the wave of hair cascading over her face and hold tight, both to press her mouth closer to mine and to steady myself as she quickens her pace and my body rocks to match it. The buildup inside me is so strange and intense that I almost wonder if something's wrong, and then, just as quickly, it becomes clear this is all going somewhere very, very right.

And then I can no longer share my breath, and I pull back and cry out as waves of bliss radiate out from every limb, my body near-vibrating as they crawl out of my fingertips, my toes.

It takes me an hour or maybe a minute to open my eyes again, and when I do, I see her looking down at me, biting her lip as she tries to keep from smiling. And just like that, insecurity slowly creeps in to replace the euphoria of only seconds before.

“Oh God, what?”

She shakes her head, kisses me hard, then collapses next to me. “That,” she says, dropping another kiss onto my bare shoulder, “was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” She brings my hand to her mouth and bites a knuckle. “Oh.”

I can't stop smiling like an idiot as I watch her intertwine our fingers. “That was… Good Lord. Is it always like that?”