Page 53 of Down Bad

We’re doing it again.

Kissing instead of talking.

I don’t know whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him even harder.

Maybe it’s sexier, this thing between us that keeps happening without any discussion or understanding.

It reminds me of my first kisses right after high school. Full of butterflies and terror. Bumbling. Uncertain. An explosive joy that makes me worry I’ll never feel something this good again.

I know nothing about Diego. If this is his first time with a guy.

Or if he’s kissed many men’s lips.

If he’s always this closed-off and reserved, never talking stuff out, preferring actions over words.

There’s something I really like about that. Something more trustworthy than promises.

Like a different, more literal form of “lip service”.

But there’s something more than just a kiss happening.

I can’t ignore the hand he just placed on my cheek.

It’s heavy. Warm. Soft. And shaking slightly.

I don’t think he knows his hand is shaking.

This kiss isn’t a statement. That’s why it’s so gentle. Diego is asking me something.

Maybe I should answer.

I lean in more, returning his strength, bringing my hand to the shelf of his shoulder.

The table is suddenly out of the way. I think we left our chairs, got to our feet, closer together, so the rest of our bodies can take part in this … conversation.

The kiss I return him is full of certainty.

Full of yes.

Full of the appetite I’m sure my soup did nothing to satisfy.

His other hand drags down my side, comes around to my back and tugs. Our hips press together. The kiss deepens.

I’m out of breath suddenly.

He’s kissing me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

Or maybe he’s the one afraid of disappearing.

Is that something he’s used to? People disappearing from his life? Is that why he came by himself to his aunt and uncle’s house? Why he seemed to have nothing he left behind?

Nothing to cling to?

Is that why he’s clinging to me?

I slide my hand into the back of his hair.

His breath catches.