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I cup the back of her head, deepening our kiss, opening her lips with mine. Jade’s fingers curl into me, the press of her nails sharp on my back. The room disappears, as does everyone in it but me and Jade. I forget that she and I are performing, that we’re supposed to be different people in a different situation, kissing for any reason other than the sheer act of wanting to. I lose myself so completely to this kiss that Jade is the one who breaks it, even though I’m the one who was supposed to.
Her face is a mirror of everything I’m feeling inside, some mix of “What the fuck was that magic?” and “Holy shit, can we do that again?” I watch her gaze dart from my eyes to my lips, and I feel confident she wants to kiss me again. The feeling is mutual. If it wasn’t for Anastasia, I’d put my mouth on hers again just to enjoy the taste of her.
Anastasia calls, “Cut!” and I’m sure she gives us directions. I’m sure I follow them, and we get through the rest of rehearsal. But I’m so wholly consumed by the kiss Jade and I just shared that if someone asked me my own name, I don’t think I could tell them. I think I ask for my line at least ten times. My eyes keep landing on her lips, my thoughts circling the question,When can I kiss her again?
It wasn’t like this when we kissed the first time. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about kissing someone, and I almost want to pause rehearsal just to call Seth and ask him if this is normal.
By the time Anastasia calls it a night, I’m aching to touch Jade again. I know she wants to leave to get ready for her party, but I can’t let her leave this building without doing something about this craving I have for her. I’m dizzy with it. It’s like hunger, but it’s not just in my stomach. It’s in my hands, it’s on my lips, it’s burrowed in my chest.
Everyone is packing up and starting to head toward the stairs, Madison and Anastasia leading the way. We’re in the alcove right in front of the stairs, where it’s dark, and I know this is my chance. Before Jade can leave, I drop my backpack and snatch her wrist. She stops abruptly.
“Hey, Jade, real quick, can I show you something?”
She gives me a suspicious glare. “You know I have to go get ready for the party. We had this conversation.” She gestures to her outfit.
“Yeah, yeah, it’ll just be like a minute,” I say.
“You guys coming?” Madison asks.
“We’ll be right there,” I say. “I’ll lock the door when we leave.”
They don’t say anything else. The sound of their footsteps overhead disappears within seconds.
I’m still holding Jade’s wrist, and she looks down at my hand.
“Ian, what is?—”
But before she can finish her sentence, I’ve got her pressed against the wall behind her and my mouth is on hers, hot and needy. She drops her bag and threads her fingers through my hair. The moaning noise she makes into my mouth tells me she wants this as much as I do. I push my hips against hers, pinning her to the wall, her soft curves against me sending blood to asingular place in my body, and I find the name for this ache she’s created in me: desire.
Desire has always been slow to arrive for me. Since middle school, my friends have been obsessed with girls and boys and kissing, and then eventually sex in all its forms, and it’s not that I don’t want to have sex—it just takes me a while to want to. I remember the first time it clicked for me that I really wanted to have sex with someone. I’d been dating a girl in high school for about three months. We’d kissed a lot, and there was some exploration with our hands, and then one day I realized I wanted to see her naked. I wanted to touch and kiss parts of her body that I hadn’t yet. So I did, and we did all kinds of stuff, but we never had sex. The pattern followed with my next girlfriend, and the one after that.
Jade isn’t even my girlfriend, but spending all this time with her, sharing the intimacy of a stage with her as we slip in and out of characters who are in love . . . was it inevitable that I’d develop feelings for her? Maybe. Maybe not. But once the feelings existed, desire was right around the corner, and I’m in its chokehold now, my fingertips skating against the skin of her waist. She shivers at the touch and presses her nails into my forearm hard enough that I’ll find little crescent indents later tonight. I want more, and it’s clear she’s as hungry for this as I am, but I break our kiss anyway and press my forehead against hers.
We’re both panting as if we’ve run up seven flights of stairs. I tuck a strand of hair that’s fallen into her face behind her ear.
“I won’t keep you,” I say. “I just . . . I had to.” I step back and shoulder my backpack. “I’ll see you at the party?”
Jade’s lips are parted, and even in the low light I can see they’re a little swollen and glistening still from our kiss. I seem to have knocked her speechless, which I’m guessing would be a first. I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips.
Without a word, Jade picks up her bag and walks up the stairs, leaving me in the dark with my feelings.
11
JADE
“The King doth keep his revels here tonight.”Act II, Scene I
I can tell when someone wants me. I know the look. I got it for the first time when I was twelve. Between the summer of sixth and seventh grade, most girls my age were growing boobs—me included—and in addition to boobs, I lost a lot of baby fat on my face. Suddenly, I was pretty.
How did I know I was pretty? When I went back to school as a seventh-grader, for the first time ever, I had eyes on me. Boys who wouldn’t give me the time of day in sixth grade were suddenly fighting to sit next to me at lunch. I was up to my eyeballs in attention. But desire? I learned that from Stephen Mitchner.
Stephen Mitchner had the most beautiful sea-green eyes. He wore his hair in a buzz cut, he played football, and he was in orchestra in school. He played the cello, which I thought was really hot at that age. He was in my grade, and we had English class together. He was a new kid who came in halfway throughthe school year, and I had the biggest crush on him. One day, he passed me a note asking if I wanted to hang out with him after school. I obviously said yes and met up with him at a Starbucks that wasn’t too far from the school. I could tell he liked me. He’d leave his hands in the middle of the table instead of in his lap, and he’d lean in like he couldn’t hear me, but he was just trying to get closer. At school, we’d walk to some classes together, and he always walked close enough that our arms touched or he’d catch my pinkie in his since holding hands in the hallways wasn’t allowed at our school.
After two weeks, he asked me to be his girlfriend. After a month, he invited me over to his house to watch a movie one Friday night. His parents were home, but they let us hang out in the finished basement, which was very trusting of them. I was sure my mom would let me do the same, but I’d made a rule that I’d never bring anyone back to my house. My mom could be . . . unpredictable.
Stephen’s mom made us some snacks, and at first we watched the movie. Stephen choseNational Treasure, but I don’t remember a single thing about that movie except that Nicholas Cage was in it, because eventually, Stephen made the first move, scooting close and putting his arm around me. I remember the moment right before we kissed. The room was pretty dark, except for a small lamp and the light of the TV screen. It was just enough light for me to see the look in Stephen’s eyes. I knew he wanted to kiss me, and I knew he wanted more. I also knew I had the power to give him exactly what he wanted—or to deny him.
It was my first taste of that kind of desire and that kind of power, and every time I encounter it, I stay high on it for as long as I can.
