Right now Holster’s talking to March and April from the volleyball team, and Rans isn’t looking, because he’s making out with one of last year’s bio classmates where Holster can definitely see. It’s a good kiss. Rans tries really hard to leave parties with a good kiss, because it keeps both the ruse and his reputation in a tidy spot. He likes that people know he’s a good kisser. Every party needs a showstopper, and Holster — Holster doesn’t need the reminder, he doesn’t, but sometimes it feels like—
Rans’s former classmate’s smiling into his lips. Her name is Grace, he thinks; they spent enough time together for him to know she’s into him but not long enough to remember her name. He’d feel worse about it if he thought she’d care. A summer kiss is a summer kiss.
Hands in his hair, nails a slight and deliberate pressure, a subtle brush of tongue. Usually this is when he’d kiss his way along her jaw to her ear and whisper an invite back to his place. Tonight, though, Rans tugs her bottom lip with his teeth and steps away.
Grace touches her mouth. Gives him the eyes. “Maybe we can do it again sometime?”
“Yeah, for sure,” he tells her, even though he knows they won’t. She’ll meet someone else and he’ll be another hookup and he still won’t hold Holster’s hand as they walk home.
Over her shoulder, Holster’s still laughing with the girls, the sweat on his neck shimmering, and Rans can almost taste it.
