Rose Bridges

Thirty one

Carmen

What's up with you? You barely talk to us at lunch anymore, is a text I receive from Amanda as I walk up to Romero's front door.

I stare at the text before shutting my phone off.

I don't want to even think about this right now.

Right now, I just want to go to this soccer game with my friend...who I happened to have kissed, and have fun.

This is probably going to be my last outing of any sort before delving into studying for finals before christmas break and practicing for the debate coming up in 3 weeks.

I'm not exactly sure what one is supposed to wear to a soccer game, but I decided to tie two pieces of hair back with a small pink bow and wear my usual short black mary-jane heels, except with white tights underneath and a pair of straight legged jeans, along with a lovely white and pink thick sweater. I also added light pink soft gloves to my hands. It's quite chilly in Boston winters, so I have to dress appropriately.

I wait outside after knocking on the door.

My skin is hot with nervousness but also excitement.

The door opens after a minute and Romero stands there wearing nothing but a pair of boxers.

I try my best not to look at his half naked body. Don't be a creeper Carmen, don't make him uncomfortable.

He leans out the door and looks around. "How did you get here?"

"Zara dropped me off," I answer honestly. I had updated her on everything that happened in the car and...well let's just say that he's on her bad side at the moment for making me cry.

But how could I ever be mad at him for that? It was my own doing to kiss him, and no one  should feel obligated to kiss anyone back.

We still haven't talked about that moment since a few days ago when he came up to me after school the day after.

And I've tried, I've tried so hard, to forget about it. To forget how his lips felt against mine. To forget about the way I want to wrap my arms around him and bury my face into the crook of his neck. To forget how I like him.

"You should've texted me, I don't want you outside here by yourself," he murmurs before placing his hand on my shoulder and urging me inside, closing the door behind me.

"I did," I rebut. "But someone was sleeping." My eyebrow lifts accusingly.

He smiles lazily and starts walking in front of me up the stairs. "It's Saturday. I don't get out of bed on Saturdays." I can't help but watch the muscles of his back move as he walks up the steps, holding the rather unsteady wooden railing.

I fold my hands together as I follow him into his room. He's so tall that he has to duck slightly through the door frame.

My eyes go back to his body and my mouth goes ajar.

I wonder what his bare skin would feel against mine. Would his hands have blisters on them and be rough?

I sit at the end of the bed and cross my legs as he walks around, grabbing jeans off the floor.