only because Rose and Holly always called the shots. I just kept my mouth shut. It was easier that way. It kept us from fighting, which I still try to avoid at all costs. Only when I was alone on the rarest of occasions did I get the chance to play the role of a mom or a bride and daydream about what it would be like to kiss a boy.
My first kiss was in the ninth grade, and it was nothing like my fantasies told me it would be. Wet, sloppy, and nervous—yuck. I was less than eager to kiss another boy after that day. I kissed a few more toads and even let one of them take my virginity. Surprise!—Not a prince in the lot. It wasn’t until the summer after graduation when I started sleeping with Tanner that I felt anything in a kiss.
It wasn’t love, but pure lust. Tanner was wild, kinky, and always in the mood. I loved the attention he gave to me and how he always wanted to try new things. Wanting to be adventurous where sex is concerned has never been a problem, but I keep finding myself settling for what I know and never taking any risks.
Kissing Gavin was like kissing a toad again, though I told myself time and time again that it wasn’t. But kissing Marshall had been something else entirely. It wasn’t like kissing Tanner and definitely not like kissing any of the toads. It was a shockwave through my entire being, an emotion I have never felt. It was new, but it was wrong. How can that be possible? I feel sick to my stomach with the thought of never kissing those gorgeous lips again, never getting the chance to explore the rest of him in every way possible. I think Marshall has ruined me. I can’t even fathom feeling a fire like that for anyone else.
I look at a few other classmate profiles. Most are married, some with new babies, and others are lucky enough to travel. My gut twists with envy. Even after being in a relationship with a pilot, I’ve never been in an airplane and have traveled no farther than Wisconsin. I send a message to Holly, asking how she’s doing and congratulating her on the birth of her third child.
“Maybe they’re swingers,” Krystal says when she finally arrives. She plops down on the couch next to me. She’s holding two shots glasses for the tequila, one for each of us. Along with pizza, tequila is her usual cure-all for crappiness. She’s one of those girls who eats and drinks what she wants, never works out, and never seems to gain an ounce of weight. As much as I love my good friend, I can’t help but find myself peeved by this.
She knew after Marshall’s visit the other morning that there was more to it all than I let on. She pours us each a generous shot of tequila.
“Swingers? That sounds more like something up your alley,” I mutter sarcastically before downing my shot and following it with a shot of pineapple juice—much better than salt and lime she calls training wheels —a trick Krystal taught me to put out the burn.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Lizzie? No really, in all seriousness, I think you need to give him a chance to talk. That guy looks at you like he wants to lick you from head to toe.” She nudges me with her shoulder.
“Maybe I should get myself some cats. Give up on love. Let the inevitable happen and become an old maid.”
Krystal snorts. “For fuck sake, Liz, you’re only twenty-six. No need to go all doomsday.”
“I know it’s a stupid thing to say, but I needed to throw a little pity party for myself.” We share a laugh. “Anyway, what could he possibly say to me that would make any of this okay? He named his top-shelf absinthe after his wife, Sweet Sarah. Those were Peter’s words. Why do you think Peter was so shocked? I know it was because he couldn’t believe that Marshall is a cheating ass. Man, can I pick ’em.” Anger bubbles up again in my throat.
“He’s not Gavin, honey. I know men, and I’m not convinced that that pretty boy is the cheating type.”
“Well, we both know I’m not the best judge of
My first kiss was in the ninth grade, and it was nothing like my fantasies told me it would be. Wet, sloppy, and nervous—yuck. I was less than eager to kiss another boy after that day. I kissed a few more toads and even let one of them take my virginity. Surprise!—Not a prince in the lot. It wasn’t until the summer after graduation when I started sleeping with Tanner that I felt anything in a kiss.
It wasn’t love, but pure lust. Tanner was wild, kinky, and always in the mood. I loved the attention he gave to me and how he always wanted to try new things. Wanting to be adventurous where sex is concerned has never been a problem, but I keep finding myself settling for what I know and never taking any risks.
Kissing Gavin was like kissing a toad again, though I told myself time and time again that it wasn’t. But kissing Marshall had been something else entirely. It wasn’t like kissing Tanner and definitely not like kissing any of the toads. It was a shockwave through my entire being, an emotion I have never felt. It was new, but it was wrong. How can that be possible? I feel sick to my stomach with the thought of never kissing those gorgeous lips again, never getting the chance to explore the rest of him in every way possible. I think Marshall has ruined me. I can’t even fathom feeling a fire like that for anyone else.
I look at a few other classmate profiles. Most are married, some with new babies, and others are lucky enough to travel. My gut twists with envy. Even after being in a relationship with a pilot, I’ve never been in an airplane and have traveled no farther than Wisconsin. I send a message to Holly, asking how she’s doing and congratulating her on the birth of her third child.
“Maybe they’re swingers,” Krystal says when she finally arrives. She plops down on the couch next to me. She’s holding two shots glasses for the tequila, one for each of us. Along with pizza, tequila is her usual cure-all for crappiness. She’s one of those girls who eats and drinks what she wants, never works out, and never seems to gain an ounce of weight. As much as I love my good friend, I can’t help but find myself peeved by this.
She knew after Marshall’s visit the other morning that there was more to it all than I let on. She pours us each a generous shot of tequila.
“Swingers? That sounds more like something up your alley,” I mutter sarcastically before downing my shot and following it with a shot of pineapple juice—much better than salt and lime she calls training wheels —a trick Krystal taught me to put out the burn.
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Lizzie? No really, in all seriousness, I think you need to give him a chance to talk. That guy looks at you like he wants to lick you from head to toe.” She nudges me with her shoulder.
“Maybe I should get myself some cats. Give up on love. Let the inevitable happen and become an old maid.”
Krystal snorts. “For fuck sake, Liz, you’re only twenty-six. No need to go all doomsday.”
“I know it’s a stupid thing to say, but I needed to throw a little pity party for myself.” We share a laugh. “Anyway, what could he possibly say to me that would make any of this okay? He named his top-shelf absinthe after his wife, Sweet Sarah. Those were Peter’s words. Why do you think Peter was so shocked? I know it was because he couldn’t believe that Marshall is a cheating ass. Man, can I pick ’em.” Anger bubbles up again in my throat.
“He’s not Gavin, honey. I know men, and I’m not convinced that that pretty boy is the cheating type.”
“Well, we both know I’m not the best judge of
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