The Feeling Checklist

8

He can see me piecing two and two together, but before he even has to say something, I send him a tiny smile. "You don't have to explain if you don't want to," I reassure him, giving him the same courtesy he gave me when he first came to my house.

"Thanks," he says, sitting on his bed, picking up the remote from his nightstand. There's a tiny tv on his dresser, and he clicks it on before he pats the spot beside him. "What do you want to watch?"

I stretch out beside him, and the bed is so tiny that I find myself almost pressed against his chest. After our kiss last night, I'm unsure where that leaves us. All I do know is that my body is screaming at me to touch him. I want to feel like I did during our kiss.

"You pick," I say, folding my hands over my stomach.

He takes his time flipping through the channels, and after another five minutes, Tracy brings us a big bowl of popcorn and some water bottles, leaving the door open on her way back downstairs.

Finally deciding on The Office, he sets the remote back down on the nightstand and lies on his side, his head propped up on one hand. The bowl of popcorn is between us, and I'm grateful because otherwise, I'm afraid I'd try to crawl on top of him.

"Pen or pencil?" He asks me. I'm lying on my back, and the way he's staring down at me is unsettling. It's so attractive that it's almost painful.

Playing into our game, I have a smile on my face as I reply, "Pencil. I make way too many mistakes. Amusement park or beach?"

He ponders the question momentarily, sighing before he replies, "I'd have to say the beach. I've never been to an amusement park before."

"Wait, really? Where are you from? Didn't you have any around you growing up?"

He shrugs. "I'm from a few towns over, but I never went. I don't know."

I can tell he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, so I lay back on the pillows and nod to let him continue the game. I don't want to upset him; if he doesn't want to talk about it, he shouldn't have to.

"French kiss or hickies?" He asks with a sly grin.

I laugh. "How is that even fair? You know I've only had a French kiss. You are my only kiss."

Taking the bowl of popcorn, he leans over to put it onto his nightstand and moves closer to me. He's hovering directly over me before his hand rests on my stomach, toying with the edge of my black t-shirt. "That's right. It would only be fair to show you how both work, right? You know... So you can have an honest opinion."

Like my body immediately responds, I nod before I even have the time to think about it. "I mean, yeah," I breathe out. "For learning purposes."

He doesn't need any more of a green light than that. He brings his lips to mine in seconds, but this time it's slow. It's not filled with tongue, and he's not drunk. It's meaningful and sweet and so...nice.

The more the kiss continues, the more I get too excited. My body squirms beneath him, and he presses onto my stomach to calm me down. I'm too riled up from the way his lips feel. Since last night, I haven't been able to stop thinking about this.

"Add tongue," I pant, and at this point, I'm practically begging.

"I haven't even given you a hickey yet," he snickers.

"This is for learning purposes. You know, so I can really compare the two."

The smile on his face is priceless, and when I feel his tongue collide with mine again, it's like a complete switch goes off. Normally I'm awkward and shy, and I can't even express what I want, but doing this feels different. I know exactly what I want, and I find myself tugging at the ends of his hair.