“All day?”
He nods yeah. “To any shop in Southern California.”
“What if I want to go to that amazing pinup shop in Glendale?”
“If you don’t mind traffic—”
“And I want to listen to No Doubt the entire way?”
He makes a show of cringing. “The pop ones too?”
“Of course.”
“That’s a fate worse than death. But, yeah, we can listen to every album they’ve ever made.”
“Oh, please. If Gwen was a guy, you’d be worshiping her for writing so many songs about her ex.”
“Would I?”
I nod hell yeah.
He motions to the green light a block ahead.
I try to keep up with Forest, but he’s fast and I’m in platform boots.
The red hand flashes.
We run onto the street. Whiz through it. Hit the sidewalk just in time.
He looks down at me with a smile. A smile that says yes, I did mean everything I said last night. I do want to fuck you. Because I like you. Because I am totally over Mack. Because you’re the most beautiful woman on the planet.
I try to find a coherent response. Settle on a non sequitur. “Actually… Gwen is too mature for you. She doesn’t wish ill on her exes.”
“Not a single line about how they should die in a car crash.”
“Or drive off a bridge,” I say.
“Or burn to death.”
“Nothing about how he’s a bastard for sleeping with a new woman,” I say.
“What about her last album?” He motions to the red light.
“The one you call shit pop music? That you refuse to listen to?”
“Do I refuse?”
Yeah, he does. Not that I mind, exactly. I appreciate Gwen’s pop career for what it is, but I don’t love the sound. “Always.”
“Play that.”
“Really?”
He nods yeah. “If it’s what you want.”
The light turns green. I step into the street.
Forest steps after me. His hand brushes my lower back.
Then it settles there. He pushes gently, just enough I know he’s leading.
It’s intimate. Loving. Sweet.
I want more of it. All of it. All of him and his love and his affection.
Right now, it’s me and Forest. No camera. No exes. No parents.
There’s no reason to put on a show.
He’s touching me because he wants to touch me.
Maybe he meant what he said last night. Maybe it wasn’t a drunken attempt to use me. Maybe it was alcohol dissolving his inhibitions.
“Why do you like the bridge guy anyway?” I step onto the sidewalk.
He keeps pace with me. “I don’t like him personally.”
“No? You aren’t following his Instagram? Sending fan mail? Writing fan-fics about the two of you running off together?”
“Fuck no. My fan-fics are gang bangs.”
I can’t help but laugh. “The whole band taking you?”
“Yeah.”
“All at once? Or one at a time?”
“One at a time doesn’t sound like a great gang bang.”
My cheeks flush. It’s hard staying mad at him. It really is. “Is this another one of your porn fetishes?”
“No.”
“What, um…” I force my gaze to the shops in front of us. We’re almost to the start of Abbott-Kinney. It’s quiet for a weekday afternoon. No one to overhear this conversation. “What’s your favorite?”
“You really want to know?”
“Why? Will it scare me?”
“Does porn scare you?”
“A little.”
He raises a brow.
“Why do all these videos have a guy going at a woman’s mouth like he’s trying to fuck her skull?”
His lips curl into a smile. “No violent oral for you?”
I shake my head.
“Or none at all?”
Ahem.
“You don’t like giving head?”
I clear my throat.
“You don’t?” He chuckles. “Fuck, if Holden heard that—”
“No, I…” I pick up my pace.
He matches it. “He likes to torture me by asking if you’re generous or greedy.”
“Oh?”
“He thinks you seem generous.”
“Please don’t elaborate.”
“Sometimes, he thinks you’re greedy. Depends on the day.”
I don’t know what to say, so I settle on, “Oh.”
“Are you?” He pulls me closer as we pass a family in Disneyland gear.
So. Not. Answering. It’s way too loaded. “I also find your brother annoying, yes.”
“You know what I’m asking.” His hand goes to my hip. His fingers curl into the fabric of my dress.
It’s thin. I can feel the pressure of his fingers. The heat of his hand.
“Skye?”
“Yeah?”
“We’re holding up the matcha.”
“Right. We should be walking.” But I don’t move. I stay inches from him.
His breath warms my ear.
His fingers brush my hip. Then they’re lower. Pressing the fabric of my dress into my outer thigh.
“We should.” He stays put too.
We stay frozen for a moment.
The sun warms my skin.
The wind ruffles my dress.
The passing traffic blurs together.
Then some driver honks his horn and I jump away from the street.
I turn. Move toward the matcha shop, the one with the pink walls and the palm tree pillows.
Forest follows me. “There’s no shame in not liking something.”
“What if your girlfriend didn’t like it?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“But would you date someone who… didn’t do that?”
“Someone? Or you?”
I clear my throat. “Hypothetically.”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“Why she doesn’t like it. What else she likes. If she’s open with me or not.”