So good that I find my arms acting independently of my brain. They reach up and wind around his shoulders, my hands clasping behind his neck. I lean back and Ford takes the opportunity to place kisses along my neck. I shudder because, oh man, that's a super sensitive spot.
Then he's running his lips up and down, and I move my hands to his shirt, pulling him closer.
"Yes," I utter in a husky voice.
Ford's hands moved to my waist, circling my hips and tracing circles just under the hem of my tank top. Lazy fingers slide up my skin, making me shiver as they pass over a rather ticklish spot. They stop when they reach my bra, a moment of hesitation.
But I want more, so I shift to the right and meet his lips once more. I push my tongue into his mouth, hoping he understands that this is an invitation for his hands to pick up where they left off. I taste the cherry Jell-O from the shot.
I know we're outside at a party. In the background, I can hear the music blasting through the house. Someone is yelling "chug" at the top of his lungs, and a car horn is blasting out on the street.
I don't care though because this feels so amazing. I know we'd been fighting, but if you put a gun to my head, I wouldn't be able to tell you what we were fighting over.
Finally, Ford takes the hint, and his fingers begin to move under my top again. They brush over my lacy bra, passing over my sensitive nipples. I push into him even as I continue to draw him toward me by clutching his shirt.
Then his hands fall to my waist, and he plants one last kiss on my lips.
When we pull apart, there's a long moment that passes between us. I search his eyes, hoping, praying I won't see any regret. Even though I really can't believe I've just made out with my oldest, closest friend, I can't deny that it felt amazing.
Then Ford's face breaks out into his usual grin, and I relax in his arms.
"Well," I say.
"Well." He brushes a hair from my face. "That's something we've never done before. I mean, we've both kissed other people."
"But never each other." I realize I've been grasping his shirt while we made out and smooth the fabric. Then I look up and meet his serious gaze. "Are you okay?" I ask tentatively.
"After that? Oh yeah."
I lightly punch him. A line forms on his forehead. I know it well. It's his thinking line.
"Banana, I want to say--"
But he's interrupted when a couple of drunk people stumble into the backyard. Oblivious, they immediately start playing beer pong on a long table already set up on the patio.
Ford and I untangle ourselves. I wonder what he was going to say. But the moment--this unexpected, yet totally perfect moment--has ended. I throw my best death stare in the direction of the beer pongers, and Ford laughs. Then he grabs my hand and interlocks our fingers. My breath catches. I've held hands with Ford before. But never like this. With our fingers intertwining like this, it's more than a simple gesture. This is the hand holding of a couple.
Are Ford and I going to become a couple? Are we one already? Would I even want that? Does he?
Questions flood my mind, and I glance over to see that Ford's thinking line has returned as well.
"Come on," he says. "Let's grab some drinks."
Alcohol to calm my uber-frayed nerves? Yes, please. "Sounds good."
I follow him into the house, but we're stopped by Kacey, a friend from high school. Ford snatches his hand from mine in record time, and I can't help but feel disappointed.
"Lana, hi." Unaware of the fact that I can't think of anything except for the way Ford's lips felt against mine, Kacey wraps me in a big hug. "So good to see you. Hi, Ford," she offers.
"Why don't you guys catch up," Ford says, stepping even further from me. "I'll grab us those drinks. Kacey, you want something?"
She holds up her red Solo cup. "All good, thanks."
As Kacey catches me up on her plans for the fall, my eyes follow Ford as he heads toward the kitchen. What just happened? Maybe I'm imagining something, but it seems like he didn't want anyone to see us holding hands. Weird.
I tune back to Kacey. "So I'm going to have to go shopping for new clothes. I mean, it's my first real grown up job. Not an internship. Actual paycheck." She wiggles her eyebrows. "Do you need some stuff for law school?"
"Oh, I don't know. Probably." In truth, I haven't thought about it. I've been too busy obsessing over the possibility of seeing Wes. Then Ford and I kissed, and any thoughts of law school were so far away they might as well be on a different planet.