Page 42 of Oleander

“I...didn’t mean to...I just...”

“So why did you?”

I swallowed. My mouth was so dry from the champagne and the argument that it hurt to do so. “Because I was angry. I saw the photo and the book, and I knew it was from him, and I was...” I whispered the next words. “I hated it.”

“Why did you hate it?” His voice was almost gentle.

When I looked at him, I felt heat rush to my cheeks because I knew he knew why I’d hated it. He knew why, and he wantedmeto say it.

I wasn’t breathing and there was a sound like music in my ears. Like Caspien playing piano. He was so close and so devastatingly pretty, and I didn’t know how to say all the things swirling about in my belly with the sandwiches, birthday cake and champagne, but I knew if I did, then everything would change.

Things were already changing. This hot, confusing, frightening thing that got louder and more desperate whenever I was around him had reached some critical point. One I couldn’t come back from even if I wanted to. Telling him why I’d hated seeing that book seemed too difficult, too impossible.

So I went toward him instead, took his face in my hands, and kissed him.

Eleven

At first, Caspien stood stiff against me. Then, his hands came up to grab hold of my upper arms, and he opened that terrible, vicious mouth.

It was soft and wet and tasted of champagne and birthday cake. It was hot, too, his tongue and lips searing mine as he kissed me back, exploring the inside of my mouth with his own. When he sucked on my lip, I shuddered.

My entire destruction felt possible from that kiss, and I had no desire to fight it. It was what books and song lyrics told you kisses ought to be. It was the end of childhood and the beginning of something else, and I knew I would not be the same when it was over.

The other thought moving through me was this:This is Caspien. I’m kissing Caspien. He’s letting me kiss him.

It was ludicrous. To be kissing him. For him to be clinging to me like this. To have his tongue in my mouth. I’m sure it was the illogical nature of it that had my dick hard in an instant. I shoved him back against the door and rubbed myself against him. When he moaned softly and rubbed back, I felt something weep out of it, hot and wet.

With a hiss, I jumped back, releasing my hold on him.

He stared up at me, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with excitement.

He licked his wet lips. “Well, well. I honestly didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I …what...” My brain was completely offline. When Caspien raised a sharp expectant eyebrow at me, something inside collapsed. “I have to go...”

I threw open the door and bolted downstairs and out the back door. I ran all the way back to the cottage without stopping, my lungs burning and my heart beating so dangerously fast under my ribcage that I was sure I was going to die. Did people have heart attacks at fifteen? I realised too late that I didn’t have keys to get inside and that I’d have to wait for Beth and Luke to get home. Beth and Luke, who didn’t even know I’d left.

Confusion, panic and shame crawled over me as I sat with my back against the front door.

I’d kissed him.

A boy.

Not just a boy either; him. Caspien.

I didn’t even like him. In fact, I hated him most of the time. So why had I done it?

Was I gay?

I liked Ellie. I liked kissing her and being with her. I liked how she smelled and the way she smiled. She was sweet and soft and funny. Everything he wasn’t. I wanted to talk to someone about what it might mean, but I had no clue who. Luke would understand; I knew he would, but I wasn’t ready for it to be in the house, living with us.

And what did it mean he’d kissed me back? I decided to cast that part aside immediately because there was no reason for anything he did. Or rather, there were a thousand. Each one designed and well-planned. He probably thought it was funny. Something he could take the piss out of me for later.

I’d kissed him. I’d done it. And I knew now that it had been something I’d wanted to do for a while—maybe since the night in my room, maybe even before that. I’d wanted to kiss him, and so I had, and now everything was different. What was I supposed to do now? Who even was I now? Christ, I hated myself for it.

But then, I thought about his mouth and how it had tasted, how his tongue had felt sliding against my own, and I realised I wanted to do it again.

I groaned. How was I going to look at him again?