The Kissing Booth

The hard, smooth surface beneath my head was rising and falling slowly, and the arms curled around me were so warm and safe. If I really listened, I could hear a steady thud of a heartbeat under my ear.
I blinked my sleepy eyes open a few times, my body unwilling to wake up. It was just so cozy and peaceful here . . .
When Noah’s messy room came into view, the weak daylight trying to push through the drapes, I woke right up.
And then I realized exactly what I’d done, and my pulse picked up in a panic.
I’d slept with Lee’s big brother. With Noah.

Rochelle,’ he said quietly, ‘we don’t have to. We can wait. I’ll wait.’
Any doubts I had about this washed away completely at those words. It wasn’t like I’d planned on this happening, especially so soon: I’d always thought that this would only happen once I was in a committed relationship with a guy I loved. But everything felt so good – so right – with Noah, that I didn’t care.
And maybe I wouldn’t have gone all the way if he hadn’t told me, in that soft voice, that he’d wait. But that was it. I knew he cared.
So I replied, my voice as quiet as his, ‘I know. But I want to.’

Patrick hugged me from behind, his body heat thawing out my back a little.
I laughed and shook my head at him, but before I could step away and tell him not to be silly, I felt a kiss on my shoulder. I stood there in shock for a moment, my brain sluggish to process what had just happened. Then he kissed my neck a little further up, his hands on my waist.
I turned to push him away, but Patrick clearly thought I was turning toward him, and his hands locked around my back. Before he could try and kiss me, I pushed his face sideways with the palm of my hand and wriggled away. It would’ve been more effective to just knee him in the crotch, but that didn’t occur to me.
He stumbled when I pushed him (he was drunk, and not all that steady on his feet), but it was somebody else that sent him sprawling on the grass and put a firm hand on my arm.
‘Dude, you always spoil the fun like that!’ Patrick slurred, struggling to his feet. ‘You’re such a killjoy, Flynn – why you gotta be so tough all the time?’ He must’ve been pretty damn drunk, because he was just asking for a fight – and Patrick was a pretty smart guy; he’d never have done something as stupid as that sober.