How to Make Out

by Brianna Shrum

  “I’m serious. Eventually, you would. What if I didn’t want to sleep with you? Then what?”

  He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

  I eye him skeptically.

  “Okay, I’m a guy. I mean, it matters. But if all you want to do is make out with me until a year from now or until you’re in college, or until we … like … get married, I don’t care.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Nope. And don’t freak out; I’m not proposing to you. But I’m telling you it wouldn’t matter to me.”

  “And the next girl who comes traipsing up to your door in her short shorts and spaghetti straps with her giant boobs, you would actually be able to resist that?”

  “Yeah, I would. And I’d want to.”

  “And when I’m being crazy—”

  “Renley. Listen to me. I don’t care about other girls or screwing you or your weird habits or your crazy. If I say I want to be with you, I want to be with you. Period. I’ve said it before; I’m not your dad. But you know … I think I don’t want to try to convince you anymore.”

  I stare at his eyes, not sure what to say.

  “I’ll always be in love with you. But I don’t want to convince anyone to be with me. I think …”

  “What?” I say, voice coming out quieter than I intended.

  “I think I’m gonna let you go.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t want me right now. And I can’t just sit here and wait for it. You don’t trust me and you’re terrified I’ll leave you and whatever. Okay. You want to be with Seth. And that’s fine. I’m letting you go.”

  I want to cry again. It’s so stupid. Why do I want to cry?

  “But I want one last thing before you get in your dad’s car and drive off.”

  “What?”

  His lips are on mine before I’ve had a chance to process—urgent, powerful, taking my breath away. And his hand is on my face, pulling it in toward him, so the kiss is deep and slow and amazing, and I can’t even think.

  But then he pulls back.

  “I thought you said you were letting me go,” I say, breathing shallow.

  “Yeah. I am. But I want you to remember that he can’t kiss you like I can. Remember that.” He grins and pushes me lightly away. “Go.”

  And in a daze, I go.

  30. How to Be Me

  I walk across his yard, back to my house, mulling everything over. It’s freezing out here, snow reaching up to my ankles, melting into my socks. I run into my house to grab a coat, and my dad catches me on the way out.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “To fix something I broke.”

  He smiles and pats me on the arm in a weird display of paternal affection.

  “Can I borrow your car?”

  He hands me the keys and I run off. I jump in the car and start the engine, heart thumping hard. April said she didn’t think it was over, but after everything that happened at school, I don’t know how that’s possible. She wouldn’t lie, though. Not about this. I shouldn’t be scared. I refuse to be. So I floor it and peel out of our driveway onto the little road, heading toward Seth’s.

  I can feel every bump in the road as I drive, and the closer I get to Seth’s, the more confused I feel. I should be thrilled. I should be unable to think about anything else. Shouldn’t I? When I’m about two minutes away, I can’t make myself drive farther, so I pull off the road. Just for a second, just to gather myself.

  Why am I feeling this way? Part of me is dying to get to Seth’s door, dying to fix everything, or at least to try, to have his lips on me, his hands everywhere. But part of me, well, isn’t.

  When I let my head drop forward to rest on the steering wheel, it sets off the horn. It cuts through the sparkling quiet of the night and I jump back up. I have to make a decision. So … I do. And I turn back onto the road and drive.

  When I get to his house, his car is not in the driveway. I frown, discouraged for just a minute. So I drive past it, to the only other place I can think of that he would possibly be. The only place he has to be.

  When I pull up to our spot, his car is sitting there quietly, headlights shining off the overlook. My car is quiet, so I don’t even think he notices when I park. I stop several feet back from him and walk for several seconds in the cold dark, then lean up against the hood.

  Drew is lying there, hands clasped behind his head, staring up at the stars. They’re phenomenal tonight. Of course he’s mesmerized. But when I lean against the car, he turns his head toward me.

  “You remembered a jacket,” he says.

  “Yeah. I’m a grown-up now, or something.”

  I hop up on the hood and slide over next to him. He doesn’t move his arm out for my head. He faces the sky again. “That was a fast reunion,” he says.

  “Well, yeah. Probably because it didn’t happen.”

  He’s still staring at the stars, and I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him.

  “No?” he says lazily. “Why not?”

  “Because I didn’t want it to.”

  He moves his head a fraction of an inch, then raises an eyebrow. “What? Afraid he wouldn’t take you back?”

  “No. I mean, I don’t know. I thought he wouldn’t. But after what April told me, I honestly think he might.”

  “So what are you doing here?”

  “I told you,” I say. “I didn’t want it to work out with Seth and me.”

  He frowns. He’s not going to get it, no matter what I say, apparently. So I slip my hand around the back of his neck and pull his face toward mine, meeting his lips with more intensity than I ever have with anyone.

  He makes a low noise of surprise, but recovers in an instant, rolling over on top of me, car hood popping beneath us, slipping his tongue between my lips, and I just melt against him. His kiss is passionate, hard, possessive, and I run my nails lightly up and down his back, under his shirt. I can feel little goose bumps where my fingers trail, and he responds by playing with the hem of my shirt, tugging lightly at the hair of the base of my neck.

  We stay like that for a long time—I have no clue how long—until finally, he pulls back from me.

  “You …” he breathes, out of words apparently. “You … what? I don’t get it. I’m not complaining, but you gotta tell me.” He’s running his fingers along the skin of my waist, giving me delicious chills.

  “I was driving to Seth’s house, almost there, actually. But I couldn’t do it.”

  “Why not?” His voice is low and husky.

  “Because I think for the last two years, I’ve just been scared. I can’t handle the thought of losing you. Ever. And in all honesty, part of me still is, still doubts this. I can’t lose you. Doesn’t this make you feel …”

  “Terrified,” he says.

  “Ultimately, though, I figured, if I’m with someone else, I have to give you up. At least part of you. And I can’t do that either. I’m not willing to. If I have to choose, I’d rather be scared. Because …” I trail off and look away, but he gently pushes my face back to look up at him.

  “Because why?”

  “Because I love you.”

  He dips down to kiss me again, slowly, with so much longing it aches. But it’s okay, because we can do this for as long as we want.

  “I love you, R,” he says, kissing me again, and trailing his lips to my ear and my jaw, and all the places Seth kissed that I know felt good, but never like this—like my whole body is on fire and bathed in ice at once.

  “I’ve always loved you,” I say again, because it feels right. Totally right. For once in a long time, something finally does.

  Later, we lie together on the hood of the car staring up at the sky, not saying anything, because we don’t need to. He leans down to kiss me every couple of minutes, and I nestle into the crook of his arm. And when it gets colder, and the jacket I brought isn’t enough, he sheds the layer he brought, and gives me his.

  “You’re definitely imag
ining me naked now,” Drew says when he strips off his shirt and jumps into bed.

  I roll my eyes. “You think everyone is always imagining you naked.”

  “Most of them are.” He winks. Totally insufferable.

  This easy flirting—this coupledom—isn’t as weird as I thought it would be. We got a couple raised eyebrows when school started again, the sex god and newly appointed social pariah. But it’s good now. Weird sometimes, seeing Seth holding hands with Taylor in the halls again, and April hanging out without me. Not all the time, though. She and I are working on things. Still. It’s different. But mostly … it’s good.

  Stuff with Mom is the same. And New York still isn’t happening; I don’t know if Sanchez will ever forgive me. But lying here in Drew’s bed, watching the snow fall outside, hot cider on the nightstand next to me, it feels almost like nothing’s changed. Like life is bizarre and crazy and twisted, but it’s alright.

  I wiggle under the covers and he jumps out of bed again, searching for the remote.

  “Here,” I say, and he tries to take the controller from me, brushing against my fingers very intentionally. And I hold on to it, so he pulls me up to kiss me, long and slow and unbelievably good.

  Then he crawls back in beside me, and I lay my head on his chest, like I’ve done a thousand times before. But not exactly like I’ve done a thousand times before.

  He flips through the channels. “Twilight Zone?”

  I don’t even know why he asks anymore.

  Beyond it is another dimension. A dimension of sound, a dimension of sight, a dimension of mind … and the cheesy music starts to play.

  I reach for his fingers under the blanket and he smiles lightly, then scoots closer to me.

  “Hungry?” he asks.

  “Starving.”

  “I’ll order Chinese.”

  Acknowledgments

  The making of a book is so the opposite of a solitary process. And there are so many people who helped turn this from a little cloud of an idea into a real, book-shaped thing.

  Thank you first, to my writerly support and friends, who let me flail and panic and ask a hundred gajillion questions about a hundred gajillion things at all hours: Tabitha Martin, Sara Taylor Woods, Dan Malossi, Liz Lincoln, and Rachel Simon.

  To the amazing friends of mine who read for me, and loved Renley and Seth and Drew and these words of mine: Darci Cole, Nazarea Andrews, Amy Reichert, Melissa Stevens, Jenny Kaczorowski, and Juliana Brandt. THANK YOUUUUUU.

  Brett Jonas, YOU get your own line, you sparkly, wonderful, ball of encouragement. Drew loves you and so do I.

  My online friends, writer buddies, book bloggers, readers, you guys are absolutely invaluable. Every last one of you.

  Bree Ogden, THANK YOU. This book would not be a thing on the shelves without you.

  To my incredible editor, Nicole Frail, thank you so much for your insight, and for loving Renley, and for championing this story.

  To my friends, who believe in me and encourage me even when it means I have to skip out on stuff, and for just everything: Rachel Chase, Luke Chase, and Nicole Silvano. You guys mean the world to me.

  My family, for believing fiercely in me and my stories and what I do. Special thanks to Papa and Nana, Mom, Chase (wordly partner in crime), Makenzie (thanks for teaching me the word “nocializing”), and Taylor (thanks for letting me use your name ;)).

  Finally, huge, huge thanks to my little boys—Mal and Elias—for being cool while I held them on my lap with one hand and wrote with the other. And to my husband, Harry. Boy I fell in love with in high school, man I love today, thanks for being my Happily Ever After.

  And thank YOU, reader. You are what this is all about.