“Nothing. Never mind.” He shakes his head, seeming disappointed about something. “Let’s just work on your list.”
“We’re still doing that?” I ask, surprised.
He scooches me over and opens the drawer below the mirror. “Why wouldn’t we?”
“Because you got mad at me.”
He glances up from digging around in the drawer, his intense eyes locking on me. “I didn’t get mad at you. I was mad at myself.”
That only deepens my confusion. He was mad at himself? For what? Smiling. I want to ask, but worry he’ll get upset again.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Something to write with.” He pulls out a tube of lipstick and slides the cap off. “This’ll work.”
I hop off the counter and move out of the way as he nudges me aside. “Why do you have lipstick in your bathroom?”
He opens another drawer. “Who knows? A girl probably left it here or something.”
“Or maybe a guy,” I say absentmindedly. “Some guys wear lipstick.”
He glances up at me again. “You’re a lot weirder than I thought you’d be.” My lips part, but he holds up a finger, shushing me. “That’s not a bad thing, so don’t jut out your lip and sulk.”
“I don’t jut out my lip.” But I smash my lips together just to be sure.
“Yeah, you do.” He returns his attention back to the drawer, grabs a small, flimsy notebook, and plops down on the floor. He gets situated, leaning against the cupboard below the sink and poising the lipstick like a pen. “Now, where to start.”
I sink down on the floor beside him and crisscross my legs. “Maybe with something simple and not too crazy.”
His marginally tolerant gaze lifts to me. “So what? You want me to write: do your homework?”
“No.” I give him my best annoyed look, but I don’t think I do it correctly because he looks like he’s about to laugh. “I’m just saying that you might have to ease me into this, especially after this whole party thing.”
He considers what I said. “Or, maybe I should just make you do something really crazy right off the bat. Do it nice and quick. You know, like ripping off a Band-Aid.”
“That’s a terrible reference.” I rub my arm, remembering the last Band-Aid I pulled off and how it tore out my arm hairs. “Ripping them off hurts.”
“I’m not going to put anything on here that’ll get you hurt. I promise.” The intensity in his eyes makes me believe him.
But I’m still really nervous about the list in general.
“Please just don’t put anything too wild on there. Or embarrassing. Or stuff that I have to do in public.”
He stares at me contemplatively while bringing the tube of lipstick to his mouth, like it’s a pen he’s going to chew on. But then he realizes what he’s doing and quickly moves it away from his mouth.
“Okay,” he starts, “We’re going to play a little game that will help you
figure this out.”
“Okay,” I answer warily. “How do I play?”
“I’m going to ask you a question and you answer really quickly,” he explains then points a finger at me. “No thinking about it, okay? Just say the first that comes to mind.”
I nervously gulp. “I think I can do that.”
“Good.” He drags out a pause. “What’s one thing you wish you could do?”
“G-get my first kiss,” I sputter then my eyes pop wide. Crap. Did I just say that aloud?
He rubs his hand over his mouth, probably laughing at me. “That’s the one thing you wish you could do?”
“I don’t know…. It’s just what came out of my mouth.” I feel like an idiot. “Can we do that again so I can give a better answer?”
He lowers his hand, shaking his head. “No way. You’ve already had too much time to think about your answer.”
I blow out a sigh. “Okay, fine. You can write that down on the list, I guess.”
He pauses, deliberating with a bit of curiosity and a bit of amusement on his face. “Or we could just do it now.”
My brows dip. “Do what?”
His lips twitch as he fights back a smile. “Do what?”
“Kiss.”
My eyes enlarge. “Y-you’re offering to kiss me?”
He bites his lip, struggling not to smile. “Sure. Why not?”
I pick at my fingernails. “I don’t mean for this to sound rude, but I don’t think I want my first kiss to be with a guy who doesn’t want to kiss me.”
Amusement glimmers in his eyes. “Who said I don’t want to kiss you?”
I eye him over with doubt, my insides a jumbled mess. “You’re saying you do?”
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”
My confusions doubles along with my nerves. “B-but why?”
My nervousness only seems to make him more entertained.
He shrugs. “Because you need a first kiss and I’d be more than happy to kiss you.”
I feel so lost. Benton wants to kiss me? Me, Zhara, the quiet, shy, goody two shoes, and apparently know it all?
“If you don’t want to, we don’t have to,” he says, seeming a little self-conscious.