I wanted to…

“Logan,” she whispered, frozen still on the sidewalk. My hands somehow landed against her lower back and I guided her closer to me. My breaths were falling from my lips as they hovered inches away from her mouth. Her hot exhales were mixing deep with my heavy inhales as both of our bodies shook in each other’s hold. “What are you doing?”

What was I doing? Why were our lips so close? Why were our bodies pressed against each other? Why could I not break my stare? Why was I falling in love with my best friend?

“Truth or lie?” I asked.

“Lie,” she whispered.

“I’m fixing the flower in your hair,” I said, combing her curls behind her ear. “Now ask me again.”

“What are you doing?” she asked as I moved closer, feeling her words brush against my lips.

“Truth or lie?”


“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I told her. “Not even just now, I mean all the time. Morning, afternoon, night, you’re on my mind. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, either. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you slow. It has to be slow, though. Because the slower it goes, the longer it will last. And I want it to last.”

“That’s the truth?” she softly spoke, staring at my lips as she hiccupped once.

“That’s the truth. But if you don’t want me to kiss you, I won’t. If you want me to lie, I’ll lie.”

Her eyes locked with mine, and her hands fell against my chest. My heartbeats hammered against her fingertips as she inched closer to me. She bit her bottom lip and a tiny smile found its way to her. “You’re my best friend,” she whispered, tugging on the bottom of her polka dot dress. “You’re the first person I think of when I wake up. You’re the one that I miss when you’re not lying in bed with me. You’re the only thing that ever felt right to me, Lo. And if I were honest, I’d say that I wanted you to kiss me. Not just once, but a lot.”

Our bodies wrapped together, and I felt her nerves racing through her as she kept hiccupping.

“Nervous?” I asked.

“Nervous,” she replied.

It was awkward, but at the same time felt exactly how I’d always hoped it would. Like we were meant to be.

I shrugged.

She shrugged.

I laughed.

She laughed.

I parted my lips.

She parted her lips.

I leaned in.

She leaned in.

And my life changed forever.

My hands wrapped tighter around her back as she kissed me. She kissed me harder and harder each passing second, almost as if she was trying to decide if this was real or not.

Was it real?

Maybe my twisted mind was making up fantasies as we stood against one another. Maybe in reality, I was merely dreaming. Maybe Alyssa Walters never even existed; maybe she was just someone I made up in my head to get me through my shitty days.

But if that was true, why did it feel so real?

We pulled our lips away from one another for a split second. Our eyes locked, and we stared, as if we were both wondering if we could keep the dream alive, or if we should quit before we ruined the small, safe haven of our friendship.

Her face inched closer to mine as she ran her shaking hands through my hair. “Please,” she whispered into me. My lips grazed across hers, and her eyes faded shut before our mouths crashed together. Alyssa’s hands pulled me closer to her. She leaned in more and slid her tongue between my lips. I kissed her back harder than she kissed me. We fell against the closest building, and I lifted her up against the chilled stones. I wanted her more than she could’ve ever wanted me. Our kisses deepened, our tongues meeting each other as my mind made fake promises of allowing me to feel Alyssa against me forever.

I wasn’t making this up—her lips, the same lips I’d imagined against mine for so long, the same lips that always made smiles which brightened my days, they were kissing me.

I kissed my best friend, and she kissed me back.

She kissed me like she meant it, and I kissed her like she meant the world.

She is.

She is my world.

When we stopped kissing, both of our breaths were heavy. I lowered her feet back down to the ground.

She stepped backwards.

I did the same. Our bodies both trembled, as we stood unsure what to do next.

I shrugged.

She shrugged.

I laughed.

She laughed.

I parted my lips.

She parted her lips.

I leaned in.

She leaned in.

Then we started all over again.

Chapter Eight


We were quiet.

There were only a few sounds in my bedroom that I chose to notice. The sound of the ceiling fan rotating round and round overhead, as we lie beside one another on my bed. There was the sound of the vinyl record playing on top of the dresser, a record that hiccupped every few seconds as if it was damaged—yet somehow it also sounded as if it were completely whole. An automatic air freshener sent off a hiss of rose scent every few minutes, the smells dancing across our noses. And last there were our small inhales and exhales.

My heart was pounding in such a violent way because it was scared, I was certain of that. Each day that we spent together, the more I started to fall for him. Tonight we kissed. We kissed for what felt like forever, but still not long enough.

And now, I was afraid.

His heart was as afraid as mine, I thought. It has to be.

“Lo?” I said, my throat dry, making my voice crack.

“Yes, High?” He started calling me High the moment we left the billboard—after he called me his greatest high.

I loved it more than he’d ever know.

I snuggled closer to him, falling into the curve of his side. He always made me feel as if he were my security blanket, the place that always wrapped me up when life grew a bit cold. He’d always held me, even when he himself felt so, so lost. “You’re going to break my heart, aren’t you?” I whispered against his ear.

He nodded, guilt in his eyes. “I might.”

“And then what will happen?”

He didn’t reply, but I saw it in his eyes—the fear that he might hurt me. He loved me. He never said the words, but it was there.

There was something to be said about the way Logan loved a person. It was quiet, almost secretive.

He was afraid of letting anyone know of his love, because if life had taught him anything, it was that love wasn’t a prize, it was a weapon. And he was so tired of being hurt.