Author's Note: All characters over eighteen. Thanks for reading.
****
I watched Rayla dancing her heart out and flirting outrageously with at least a half dozen people. It was one of those kinds of parties, apparently. I didn't always know what her mood was going to be beforehand.
"Come dance with meee," she whined to me for about the third time that night.
I shook my head. "I'm good."
Rayla pouted and flopped onto the couch next to me. "You never dance with me."
"I never dance with anyone," I corrected.
"Well why not?"
I sipped my drink. "Some of us just appreciate getting quietly drunk like a civilized person."
"Pff, whatever. You can do that when you're old. You're young! Be crazy!"
"You're drunk."
"So? That's what we're here for."
I sighed. "If I dance with you, promise not to throw up on me?"
Rayla grinned maniacally. "Don't worry, I'm saving that for the walk home."
"How considerate."
I let Rayla drag me out to dance with her. I usually ended up caving sooner or later. I didn't care for the level of attention that she did, but admittedly I didn't mind it as long as I could focus on her. When she got close and flirty with me, it warmed me in a way booze could never hope to compete with.
It didn't mean anything though. I was just another girl for her to have fun with on the dance floor. Boys or girls were equal targets for her most of the time, though I'd yet to see Rayla actually develop feelings for any of them no matter how close and flirty she seemed to get.
I'd never told her that was why I put up a fight over dancing. Not because I was terribly shy, though I could be at times, but because I wanted to actually dance with her. Like for real. I wanted to hold her and feel her against me. I wanted that warmth she caused in me to envelop me all over until it was all I could feel.
Being best friends was good, I'd always love her that way, but I'd been forced to admit recently that there was a reason I never seriously looked at boys, and that reason was girls. Specifically one particular girl.
I was pretty sure Rayla knew that once she had me dancing, I was hers as long as she wanted me. I didn't think she understood why. I was probably just a safe option when she wanted to dance, but was tired of flirting with other people.
"You're too tense," she said.
"I'm not."
"You are. Just relax."
Rayla danced closer with me. If she thought that was going to get me to relax, she was entirely mistaken.
Still, tense or not, I was enjoying it. I loved the tease of her, the feel of her hands on me, our bodies brushing or bumping into each other. I loved the faint scent of her, her gleaming eyes, and that teasing smile on her lips.
She was just being Rayla, just doing what she did, and all I wanted to do was kiss her. The need was so bad it hurt.
But... friends. Just friends. Friends didn't make out on the dance floor.
Well actually that wasn't true. I'd seen it happen before. I wasn't drunk enough to try it, was probably the more accurate statement.
Once of these nights I'd make Rayla be the responsible one, see how she liked it. I'd get wasted and she'd have to look out for me. Maybe then I'd dare flirt back with her or... or more.
I was too much lost in my thoughts. Rayla must have sensed it, because she brought me back to reality by firmly grabbing my butt. Her evil grin told me she knew exactly what she was doing.
"You were daydreaming again," she chided.
"Wasn't. M'just drunk."
"No you aren't. Let's get you another, then you can be."
I let Rayla feed me more alcohol. What the hell. It was a party after all.
It did get better, actually. More booze in my system, less inhibitions, Rayla still wanting to playfully dance with me.
I flirted back more, put my hands on her and tried to see where she'd let them rest. I even played a game of pretending to kiss her. She'd laugh and move her head out of the way, like it was all for fun, which was only partly true.
"See, you jus' need to loosen up sometimes," Rayla said.
"You're right," I agreed, as soberly as drunk me could manage. "Wanna make out?"
"Hm, a li'l too loose there. Tighten back up about ten to fifteen percent."
I grabbed her butt instead. She just laughed.
"Not what I meant," she said.
"Sorry," I said, not meaning it even a little bit.
****
Rayla and I meandered our way back to my place. My house was closer than hers, close enough to walk. It was a nice night out: moonlit, warm, romantic.
The two of us held hands most of the way, which I appreciated for all it was worth.
"Hey, Ames?" Rayla said.
She was balancing with great concentration along a low stone wall.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think we're doing something wrong?"
"No, this is the right way."
"Not directionally," Rayla said. "I mean... when you get drunk at parties, aren't you supposed to sometimes, like, hook up with your crush or something?"
My heart beat a little harder in my chest. Technically I was walking home in the moonlight with my crush, but I didn't want to get into that.
"So movies would have us believe," I said.
"Yeah."
We walked a little farther.
"Ames?"
"Yeah, Ray?"
"I think maybe I don't have a crush."
"Well you've got lots to pick from if you ever want one."
She made a face. "What, like people I've danced with?"
"Among others, yes. People like to flirt back with you."
Rayla nodded. "Flirting is fun. But, like, I think it's supposed to make me feel all funny and giddy with the right person. Like all nervous and sweaty, and we look at each other all shyly and then... and then... something. Something happens."
"Sex?"
She giggled. "No, something before that."
"Kissing?"
"Not quite what I meant. But yeah, kissing should happen, I think."
"I tried to kiss you. You wouldn't let me."
"Hehe, you're right. You can now, if you want."
I stopped short. Rayla didn't notice at first, but since we were still holding hands she was brought to an abrupt halt as well.
"What?" I said.
Rayla looked at me with a tilted head and a semblance of a coherent smile. "We could try it," she said. "It'd be a good test. Like out in the moonlight, going home drunk with someone. We could find out what it feels like."
I swallowed hard. I felt my palm sweating where I held Rayla's hand. "I don't know if it counts," I said. "If you... if it's...."
Rayla let go of my hand and stepped in front of me. She looked at me quite intently. "Obviously it would only be for real with someone you were crushing on. Or dating. Or--"
I kissed her. I could tell myself it was the booze, that it wasn't me. But it was. As nervous to take advantage of her as I was, she'd opened the door too hard for me to gently close it again.
It wasn't a good kiss. Even I had to admit that it was quick and nervous and uncoordinated. It wasn't the perfectly scripted first kiss from a movie. Yet, for all that, it was as amazing as I could have hoped. That all too brief contact of our lips, the taste of her, the feel of our bodies awkwardly pressing together, it was the sort of thing to set off fireworks inside me and fully cement Rayla as my perfect crush.
Rayla put her arms around me, but I think it was just for balance.
"Wow," she said, loosely hugging me. "That wasn't bad, actually."
My eyes lit up. "Really?"
"Yeah. I think kisses might be nice."
I scoffed. "That wasn't hardly your first one. It--"
"Yeah it was," she said casually. "I would have told you if I'd kissed someone. I tell you everything."
"That's true," I admitted, trying not to show all the excitement inside me trying to burst out.
Her first kiss. And it wasn't bad! That was practically good!
"Let's try it again," Rayla said. "But lemme tilt more like... this. And then--"
I kissed her again. She was closer to me, arms wrapped around me. I wrapped mine around her too, pulling her tight as I dared. I savoured the kiss, drawing it out as much as I reasonably could. I wanted to live in that moment.
Rayla was quiet for a moment after. I held my breath, waiting for a reaction.
"Yeah, that's nice," she said. She pulled away from my embrace. "Come on, I need a bed now."
I hurried to catch up and take her hand again. I was flushed, embarrassed, thrilled, nervous, basically all of things all at once, and I was pretty sure Rayla didn't realize hardly any of it.
That was ok. The night was perfect just the way it was.
****
About twenty minutes later I was holding Rayla's hair while she puked into the toilet. It wasn't great. I wasn't as badly drunk as her, but being near her throwing up was making me want to do the same. We didn't make a pretty pair.
My mom must have heard us. She came padding out to check on us in her robe.
"Fun party, was it?" she asked through a yawn.
"It was ok," I said.
I recalled kissing Rayla, and despite her current state I readjusted my grip, smoothing out her hair, and just smiled.
"Glad to hear it," Mom said. "I'll get you two some water. Should I make some toast or something while I'm at it?"
Rayla just groaned. I shrugged and nodded. "Yes please."
Mom sat up with us a while as we nibbled on toast and drank at least a glass of water each. She didn't chastise us or anything. It wasn't really her style generally, and she'd let us form our own lessons from the aftereffects we suffered. I both loved and hated that about her at times. I appreciated that I didn't have to worry about her yelling at me after coming home drunk, at least.
Rayla and I went to bed once we got too tired to stay up, and we seemed like we were past any more danger of throwing up.
"Ugh, my clothes all feel gross now," she grumbled. She started pulling them off in rather uncoordinated fashion.
"Probably the throwing up and sweating," I said, working on my clothes too.
"Blergh. Don't let me ever drink again."
"That's what you said last time too."
"And you didn't stop me?"
"There's no stopping you when you decide you want to party."
"That's not true."