“What did I just ask?”

“Oh, right,” he says. “So how do we do this?”

“You really are bad at this,” I tease.

“Shut up,” he says. “I mean, do we stand or do we sit? I’m assuming we’re not going to be rolling around on your bed or anything?”

I can actually feel the reflection of my death stare coming off of Mike’s face.

“That’s a no. Why don’t we just do it here,” he says.

“Don’t say that,” I tell him, covering my ears.

“Don’t say what?”

“Don’t say ‘do it,’ it makes me feel like flies are laying eggs in the back of my throat.”

“Now that’s a good visual for me to start with, kissing you,” he says.

“Shut up, Mike,” I tell him.

“What’s the ruling on hands?” he asks. “Like, where do I—”

“Nowhere near my body,” I tell him. “In fact, you should probably have them behind your back.”

“Behind my back?”

“Just nowhere on my body,” I tell him.

“I was hoping to test out my hair-caressing—”

“Do not finish that sentence,” I interrupt. “I’m already going to need an anti-emetic as it is.”

“Anti what?”

“Something to make me not throw up,” I tell him.

“That’s cold.”

“Whatever. Let’s just do this before I lose my nerve.”

“All right,” he says, moving closer to me on the couch.

He closes his eyes and starts to lean in and without even thinking about it, I naturally move away from him.

He opens his eyes again.

“What?”

“I want you to tell me the rules one more time. I’m not going to listen to any excuses if you cross the line here.”

He rolls his eyes. “One kiss,” he says, “thirty seconds or less—”

“I will be timing it,” I tell him. “There’s a clock on the wall right there, and if we’re coming to thirty and you’re not pulling away and apologizing for badgering me into doing this, I’m going to leave a big red print of my hand across your cheek, got it? Now what are the rest of the rules?”

He sighs. “Thirty seconds, one kiss and a little tongue is permissible, but nothing over the top or down the throat.”

“Where are your hands?”

“Somewhere else,” he says.

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning not on you.”

“That’s right.”

“Can we just do this thing? I’m starting to lose my nerve.”

“If you lost your nerve, I think I’d be pretty okay with that.”

“All right,” he says. “Tell me when to start.”

“No moaning or any other—you know what? Don’t make any sound at all. I don’t even want to hear you breathing.”

“I’ve got it!” Mike says with a laugh.

“All right,” I say, watching the second hand on the clock. “And, go.”

He leans in and our lips meet.

It’s weird, but it’s not terrible, I guess.

What the hell is he doing with his tongue?

I pull back a little, trying to give him the hint, but he doesn’t get it, so I bite his tongue a little.

That gets him to pull back.

Twenty seconds to go.

This is taking forever.

All right, he’s doing a little better, but it’s like he’s trying to say something the way his lips are moving.

I would close my eyes and try to pretend like this is someone other than Mike, but I’m not breaking my gaze at the clock.

Mike tilts his head to the other side and I’m pretty sure that if I had a brother, this is what it would be like to kiss him. This is, in no way, a turn-on.

Ten seconds left.

It’s almost over. The worst is already done, now it’s just a matter of hanging in there for a few more seconds.

Five.

Four.

Three.

A sound from somewhere else in the apartment startles me and I pull away.

Shit. It’s Dane.

He’s standing at the door with the oddest look on his face.

“Dane! When did you get in?” I ask.

“Just a second ago,” he says, clearly having a lot of difficulty pulling the ringing phone from his pocket. “I’m just going to take this outside,” he says and is out the door before I can say anything else.

“Oh crap,” I say, putting my hands on my forehead.

“What?” Mike asks. “So he saw us kissing. What’s the big deal?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “He looked like he just walked in on me killing his dog.”

“Does he have a dog?”

“No, he doesn’t—you know what I mean. Things have been pretty weird with us, and I think this is just going to make it worse.”

“Why would this make it worse?” Mike asks.

“I don’t know,” I lie.

The truth is that I’ve wanted to talk to Dane ever since that night when things started getting weird.

I thought my feelings for him were a drunken thing, but the more time that’s passed, the more I find myself watching him and looking forward to him being home, even if we hardly ever talk.

“So?” Mike asks with a cartoonish smile on his face.

“So what?” I ask.

“How was the kiss? Do you have any pointers?”

“The kiss,” I say. “I totally forgot.”

“Great,” Mike says, sinking into his seat. “If I can’t get you to even remember, I’m in trouble.”

“Why the emphasis?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“If I can’t get you…” I answer.

“Oh,” Mike says. “Well, it’s been what? Ten years since you’ve kissed a guy? I just figured after that long, I could pretty much do anything and still get a good response from you.”

“It has not been that long,” I tell him. “And we’re way too close as friends for you to get a really good response from me.”

“Well, do you have any notes? I mean, if you can’t remember—”

“Yeah, the tongue was way too much. I felt like you were trying to paint the top of my mouth or something and it was just weird.”

“Weird because we’re friends, or weird because—”

“It was weird because it was weird,” I answer. “I don’t know what the whole blowfish thing you were doing with your lips was all about, but you can stop doing that, too.”

“What about when I turned my head so our noses were on the other side, that was a good—”

“I really wasn’t all that impressed,” I tell him. “It was pretty obvious that you were trying to give me an eskimo kiss.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a racially insensitive term,” Mike says, sulking.

“That’s what they call it. I didn’t make up the term.”

“So, was there anything you liked?” he asks.

“Liked is kind of strong for me…”

“Oh, come on!”

We go back and forth a while. I give him some fundamental tips, but make it beyond clear that we’re never kissing like that again.

I rewind the movie as, by the time Mike’s done asking questions, we’ve missed at least half of it and we spend a quiet evening sitting on the couch.

The only thing that’s starting to bother me is that Dane still hasn’t come home.

It’s not unusual for him to be out late or even all night, but tonight feels different. That look on his face when he saw me and Mike kissing… it looked like he once had a smile, but that it slowly melted and died. I don’t know how to describe it.

It looked like his heart was breaking.

I don’t know, maybe I’m reading too much into it.

After all, Dane has what’s-her-stupid-name to keep him company.

What does he need me for?

Chapter Twelve

Standard Procedure

Dane

The view of Wrigley’s shapely posterior rising and falling as she works me into her is pleasant enough, but my heart just isn’t into it.

Not that Wrigley minds or even notices. The fact that I’m hard is more than enough for her.

We’re back on the roof, but the people across the street are all tired of the show.

I know how they feel.

I’m lying on the ledge with one foot on each side of it and Wrigley’s got her back to me. Once I got over the initial fear, this really doesn’t feel like anything exciting or even new.

“Oh yeah,” she says, slamming her core onto me again and again, “fuck me hard!”