Broken Compass

It’s my very first kiss—not counting Jimmy Osbourne’s pathetic attempt in elementary school—and my hands come up to fists in his T-shirt, curling over his taut pecs. He presses his mouth more firmly to mine, groaning quietly, one of his hands still caught between us, the other coming to rest on the back of my neck.

He’s hard. The realization is a whisper in my mind, long after I’ve felt his length pressing into my stomach. He’s aroused.

Because of me.

Kash Graham is kissing me in my kitchen, and the whole world and its complications fade in the background, nothing but white noise. I’m dizzy, his mouth, his hands, his hard body against mine the only reality I need.

He walks me back a few steps, his tongue pressing into my mouth when I gasp. French kissing, I think, and then my brain stops because his tongue is magical, sending electric jolts of pleasure through my body. Heat pools between my legs, and I want…

I want…

Breaking the kiss hurts, but I push on his chest anyway. My lips burn. My heart aches. “I can’t… West, and Nate. I can’t.”

I thought I could. I thought this was what I needed. And it felt good. It felt right.

So why do I still want more?

He touches his mouth, dragging his fingers along his full lower lip, and the heat in my belly coils into a heavy knot. It’s a struggle not to pull him to me for another taste. He looks so beautiful in the low light, more than ever before—with his high cheekbones and wide mouth, his strong shoulders and tall, graceful body.

Like a dancer, I think. Like a fighter.

“I’ll help,” he whispers, letting his hand fall to his side. “I’ll help you bring your friends back together. I’ll do it. For you.”

I sleep-walk through school the next couple of days, Kash’s words ringing in my ears long after he walked out of my apartment, returning to the night where he came from.

At least it’d felt that way when I’d raised my head and seen him standing there, at my kitchen door, when he walked in and took me in his arms.

So romantic.

So stupid, Sydney, thinking you can combat lust with lust, erase what you feel, what you need from Nate and West by kissing Kash.

Thou

gh he was the one who kissed me.

And you kissed him right back.

Jeez. Not even my subconscious is on my side tonight. I touch my fingers to my lips the way he did, and the ghostly memory of his mouth on mine replays in my mind, lighting up my blood and heating my skin.

Just what I needed on top of my two super-hot buddies: another hottie to take over my thoughts and make me question myself at every turn.

I’m so frigging confused right now.

He was so right, about how time feels when you’re alone. So sweet, coming in to check on me, offering to help me.

As if crushing on my two best friends wasn’t enough.

Crap.

In any case, no matter what Kash said about helping, my best buddies are still at war. Or so it seems, when I never find the two together during between classes, like I always used to. They’d be discussing a new videogame, or sparring techniques, or laughing about something the teacher said in class, and I’d join them.

It’s been two weeks now since that fateful brunch, and I still don’t understand what exactly happened.

West is staring at the whiteboard, scribbles something in his notebook and glances at me. “You okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he says, and I swear, those blue, laser-beam eyes can see right through me. I imagine he can see the kiss Kash left on my lips like a brand, glowing hot red.

“Dunno. You seem distracted. And with Nate acting up and getting into trouble…”