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Where have I seen them?
Why do they matter?
For a moment, I’m taken back to the home I grew up in, the kitchen where I ate a bowl of noodles every night while my mother whored herself on the street.
When I close my eyes, I smell buttery sugar. I hear laughter, feel a warm embrace.
Snapping my eyes open, I clear my throat and shove the forgotten memory away, squirming at the lingering emotions it tries to brand me with.
I carry the drinks to the couch and hand one to Olive. “Here. Let’s start over.”
She eyes it hesitantly before wrapping her hand around the cup, our fingers touching. “Alik?—”
“I don’t want a relationship,” I interject before she can argue. I sit down next to her, close enough that I can rest my knee against hers. “Commitment doesn’t suit me or my lifestyle. Something tells me you already know this, but … I’ve done some bad things too.”
She shifts her body to face me and tucks her hair behind her ear. It shouldn’t mean anything. From any other girl, it wouldn’t. But the simple action almost seems symbolic to me, like she’s unveiling herself, giving me a look at what she doesn’t allow others to see.
“That didn’t scare you off?”
When I smile, it’s genuine. I can’t remember the last time my lips moved like this. It almost startles me.
“Sweetheart, you could notpossiblyscare me.”
“You’re that bad, huh?” Her voice is small, like she believes it’s true, but her eyes blaze with a fire she shouldn’t have.
I should say no. I shouldn’tadvertisemy crimes, shouldn’t put her at unease…
But I think she likes it.
“Yes.”
When she looks down, I take her chin to lift it back up before planting my lips to hers.
And it’s a mistake.
A terrible, horrible mistake.
I only mean to wipe away the thoughts swirling in her head, distracting her from doing what I want. I only mean to take control of the room.
But when our lips touch, something deep inside the recesses of my mind unlatches, and I find myself leaning into a buzz that spreads from my lips through my chest. My abdomen contracts, carrying tension down to my hardening cock.
And then I taste it… Fucking snickerdoodles.
What a mistake.
With my hand threading through her hair, I fight to break away from the invisible pull of her lips. I manage, but at the expense of seeming like a lunatic, roughly jerking my head to the side, my breathing heavy.
Peeling my eyes open, I sit up and rest my hand in my lap while staring at her mouth until she covers it with her thin fingers.
It’s quiet for several seconds.
“Did I do something?” she asks, her eyes aimed at the floor.
Yes. But I don’t know what.
“No.”
I should say more, offer some explanation, some apology, play this off to ease her self-consciousness, but I’m too dazed. I’m so confused, it’s making me irrationally angry.
