(7) He Didn’t Drink *Much*

The party isn't that fun. It's in a clearing about a 10-minute walk into the woods. Everyone is drunk. There are lights strung up through tree branches, which is definitely a fire hazard but looks nice. Someone is playing music on a cheap speaker, so I can barely make out the lyrics.

I'd probably be having more fun if I were drunk too (it's never fun being the only sober person at a place where everyone is buzzed), but I might have to drive because Patrick wants the car back. He might need to go pick up his son—his actual son, my stepbrother—from college because my stepbrother was an idiot and there was some sort of emergency. Patrick refuses to take an Uber to get here. He's old-fashioned that way.

I also can't afford to be hungover in the morning. I don't think my parents would care. They were teenagers once too—Patrick even gets mad at me that I don't go anywhere with friends, which then turns into a fight for some reason, so I think me coming home hungover would actually make him happy—but my grandparents would care. I was seeing them when I went to my dad's.

I just sip water instead. I'm fairly certain that Thyra voluntarily spends time with me, and it's not just out of pity or something like that. She drags me around the clearing, and she even dances with me (which makes my heart stutter and my palms clammy) when the music becomes a bit more upbeat. "I didn't know you could dance," she says approvingly.

I try to think of something clever to say to this, but can't find anything before the moment passes. She puts an arm around my neck so I lean down toward her. But she's not looking at me. She's also clearly tipsy. "Indra," she whispers.

"Yeah?" I wish she weren't tipsy. I wish that her putting her arm around my neck and dancing with me meant something more than just loose inhibitions due to alcohol.

"Ugh." She shoves me and stalks away.

I don't know whether or not I'm supposed to follow her, but I don't think so. She said "ugh" at me. She's enveloped by a crowd of her friends, and I can't see her anymore. I assume it's just the alcohol and check my phone.

Yeah. Patrick needs his car back. I have to leave.

As I begin walking back down the paved dirt path to the church and the noise and lights from behind me dim, I feel chilly. I wrap my arms around myself, and I also see a lone figure walking down the path ahead of me. It's just Jaron. I recognize the white shirt and blue pants. He looks back when he hears the crunch of my shoes over dried leaves. "Oh. Hey," he says. "Also tired?" He doesn't seem drunk. I guess he has an image to maintain, even among his peers.

"No. I have to give my stepdad his car back. He needs to drive down and pick up his son from college."

"Now? What happened? Is the guy okay?"

"I'm not sure. Patrick didn't say." I fall into step beside him.

"You're a good dancer," Jaron offers.

"Thanks. You're not."

"But I didn't dance," he points out.

"I assume because you're bad at it. Or shy. I don't think you're shy, though."

That makes him laugh. "You're so mean."

"I'm not."

He puts his arm around my shoulders and leans on me heavily. "You are."

"Whatever," I say. His skin is searing hot on my neck and shoulders. It had to just be because I was cold before in the night air, right? And then the sudden warmth felt like it was burning...

He smells good. Like deodorant. But a deodorant that smells good.

"Can you not?" I say.

"Not what?" he asks.

I frown. I don't know. I press a hand to my chest and rub it, feeling my heartbeat stumble over itself. I push him off me.

Jaron stands in the middle of the dirt road and stretches his arms above his head. "Gimme a minute."

I lean against a tree and watch him. His shirt lifts up when he stretches, revealing the bare skin on his torso. It is shockingly pale, even with the white shirt, against the darkness of the woods. Maybe he's a vampire. I wonder if I could be a vampire, though I'm too dark for it. Maybe vampirism is a racist affliction.

I should probably look away from Jaron, but I do not. He really is very fit. I cross my arms over my own stomach, which is definitely not as defined as his. Jaron comes over to linger by my side, leaning on the same tree. He smiles lopsidedly.

"Okay, I should go now," I say, pushing off the bark. "My stepdad needs the car."

"Wait." He puts his free hand on the tree so that he's leaning on the tree on my right and has his hand on my left. He's not touching me, though. "Indra, I'm gay," he says.

"Yeah, I know. I told you, I'm not gonna spill your secret." I try to push his hand so I can walk away. He doesn't move. At all. I'm still trapped. I try and duck under his hand, but he just moves it lower so I can't.

This was obviously strange, and I wasn't stupid, so it seemed like this guy had a crush on me (though we haven't had many positive interactions, so I don't know why), which means I have to let him down easy, but for some reason I can't say anything.

"C-Can I...?" He blinks, scrunches his eyes shut, and presses his cheek into his shoulder.

"What?" I say, finding my voice. "Let go."

He kisses me. And since he's so close, and kissing me, I assume this means I can touch his hair without it being weird, so I run my hands through his golden mop. It's as soft as I imagined. He pulls back and looks to the side.

Shit. Was I bad at kissing? That had been my first.

And also, I never thought I'd kiss a guy. Did I just kiss a guy? Jaron was a guy and I just kissed him. Or, well, I let him kiss me.

Then he presses his forearms to the tree on either side of my face, puts one palm behind my head, and kisses me again. This time, I squeeze his biceps. He flexes—I assume for me—with a smile. I flinch and let go. "Kiss me properly," he demands.

"I don't want to!" I snap. "I want to touch your hair!" Maybe I was in love with his conditioner. Was there a sexuality for that?

He just looks confused. "Oh...okay." He tilts his head down for me.

I touch it again, then let go and look away.

"What?" he says. I'm not sure what to say to him, except that I want him to exchange saliva again but don't want to ask for it since he'll look amused and like he'll make fun of me. And also because I'm not gay. I think. When I don't say or do anything else, he presses his body onto mine. "Want to touch my arms again?" he offers.

"You're stupid. That's stupid. No, I don't." Yes, I do.

"Hmm." He tilts his head down again, and I put my hand in his hair again. He kisses my jaw. Then the part of my neck just under my ear. "Okay?" he murmurs, his hot breath tickling my skin.

I try to keep my breathing steady and hope he can't hear how fast my heart is beating. I don't want him to know how I feel. I don't even know how I feel. I can't tell if I like this or not. When his mouth reaches my collarbone, he tugs my t-shirt down to give himself better access.

I shiver. I feel a tightening between my legs. I shove him off me, forceful this time instead of the faint taps from before. "You stole my first kiss!" I shout.

"And also your second," he says unrepentantly.

How. Fucking. Irritating. If there was a word that meant irritation to the power of ten thousand, that would be the right word for what he was. "You—oh." I can't say much because he swivels away from me and vomits on the ground. I cross my legs to hide the hardness there and pat my face, which is hot and most likely red. Thank god it is too dark for anyone to notice my face or what's happening between my legs.

"Have you been drinking?" I demand.

"Not much..." he heaves into the dirt, on his hands and knees.

I cover my nose. The hardness between my legs disappears, and rightly so, after seeing that.

He was drunk. Shit. He was drunk because he'd just been dumped by Ansel. That's why he kissed me at all. I was a rebound. Why didn't I realize? I hadn't smelled anything. He hadn't been acting off. Well, other than mashing his mouth onto mine.

I wait until he's done and then yank him to his feet by his shirt. "What do you want?" I ask. "Should I take you home? Probably shouldn't be around kids when you're sick like this,”

"Um...okay."

"Moron," I mutter. But actually, I was the moron. I touched his hair. And his biceps. And I had to go give Patrick back the car too.

He stumbles after me, trying to swat my grip away from his shirt. "I'm fine, I swear."

"Will you even remember this tomorrow?" I snap.

"Of course!”

I throw him into the backseat of the Prius. "If you throw up on the seat," I threaten—

"You'll give me another kiss?"

I-R-R-I-T-A-T-I-N-G. And also gross. I roll down the window so maybe he won't get carsick. I snatch his phone from him, force him to open it, and look for his address.

He allows it reluctantly. "I'll remember all this. I promise."

"Doubt it. Be quiet. I won't be your rebound."

He stamps his foot petulantly. "I swear! I thought you were hot the moment I saw you, that first day in church. Do you know how hot you are? Do you know Estelle has a crush on you?"

"You're lying." I hesitate. Who's Estelle? How can she have a crush on me if I've never spoken to her? I wish Thyra had a crush on me.

"I'm not," he says.

"Just shut up," I tell him.

He falls silent in the backseat. After a while, he says, "Will you play music?"

"No."

He falls silent again. He gets out of the car on his own. I watch until he's inside the house, and then drive back home. Patrick will probably be mad that I took so long, and unfortunately, I don't really have a good explanation for him. None that won't obliterate his opinion of the pastor's precious son, and I'm too kind to let Patrick down like that.

When I get home, Patrick doesn't even question my lateness. His bags already packed, he rushes off with the car to pick up his son. Even Mom goes with him, after giving me cash to pay for takeout, so I assume something is really wrong. I try not to dwell on it. I try not to dwell on anything that's happened today and just take a melatonin gummy to fall asleep, knowing full well I'd be awake and overthinking all night without it.