DAMN YOUR KISS; ryden

Chapter Twelve: Praying For Love And Paying In Naivety

The blueberry pancakes were good. Really good. And so was the chicken and pea soup she’d made in preparation for her lunch, along with thick and chunky bread, slathered in rich butter. It was more than he deserved. 

She was at the other end of the table to him, glasses sliding down her nose, laptop in front of her as she clicked away. “There’s this place about three miles from here. Two bedroom. Studio apartment.” She said out loud, more to herself, than to him. Because he’d pretty much relinquished all control over the matter of his rehousing to her. She sucked in a whistle, wincing. “Actually, no.”

Another ridiculously priced apartment that he could probably afford if he wanted to give up food for two months. There’d been quite a few, so far. Brendon took another hunk out the bread, staring down at his clenched fist on the table.

“This one looks a little promising.” She said, her voice picking up a little. “Price is more than affordable, one bedroom, one study, bathroom, kitchen and living/ dining room. Loft apartment. Not on the wrong side of the tracks, and nobody’s died in it!” she had probably added the last part for comedic effect. “And…”

Brendon tuned out at the next part.

He swallowed down the bread.

“I kissed Ryan the other night.”

That stopped her short. Whatever she’d been saying faltered, stuttered and cut, before her jaw swung open. A silence stretched across the kitchen, a silence that he’d anticipated all too well.

About five minutes later, she regained the ability to close her mouth, and form words. Not that great, and a little stuttery, but something. “You … You did … what?”

Brendon uncurled his fingers, stretched them out, curled them back in again. “I kissed Ryan.”

“Ryan … as in … Ryan Ross?”

“Ryan as in Ryan Ross.”

She made a sort of spluttering sound. “You kissed … you kissed him?”

“We did other stuff, too.” Brendon winced a little, deciding to spare her the gory details. It wasn’t like he was gonna go into that, when his last words had pretty much sucker punched her already.

“Oh.” She said, after another long stretch of silence. Then “Was he a better kisser than me?”

It was just so ridiculous and absurd, Brendon couldn’t not laugh, out loud. He shook his head, his already tender stomach going weak from the laughter that racked his frame, one hand clutching his stomach. “That’s what you get out of what I just said? I just dropped the bombshell that I kissed another guy, and you want to know if he’s a better kisser?”

She sounded a little hurt, her expression wounded. “Well, I just thought it was a reasonable question to ask.”

Brendon felt a little bad, seeing her face, and he managed to pull in the chortles, shaking his head again, and wiping his eye. He tried not to giggle as he apologised. “Sorry, it just … I was thinking you’d say something more along the lines of you’re gay? Or you shared a kiss with your ex-bandmate who, oh yeah, happens to be a dude?”

She pursed her lips, shrugging a little. “I don’t know … I can’t say I’m that … well, certainly not as shocked as I expected I would be.”

“Are you saying that you expected it?” Brendon asked, incredulous.

She shook her head. “No, just … if it happened, it happened. It was a teensy weensy bit obvious that there was something.” She held her fingers up to illustrate the teensy weensy part. “And you didn’t answer my question. Is he?”

Yes. Yes he is. Actually, he’s one of the most fantastic kissers ever. Like, ever. I’ve never felt the way I felt when he did that. The way he’d apply pressure soft, hard, and back again. The way he’d tilt his head. The little moan that trembled his bottom lip. I … He was the best kisser, ever.

“Can I use your phone?” he stood suddenly, getting a head-rush.

She gestured with her chin to the hallway. “You know where it is.”

“Thanks!” he cried, bounding to the door, before she called a tentative “Brendon?”

“Yeah?” he half-turned to face her.

“You have the number?”

He grinned wide. “Yes. I do.”