Page 46 of Where Your Scars Meet Mine
Cheyenne and Maria have a long history of drunken affection, usually in the privacy of dorm rooms or quiet afterparties. Doing it in front of a full living room, however, seems to spark a louder reaction from the crowd.
When Maria pulls Cheyenne closer, pressing her lips to hers, the room erupts in cheers and whistles. Maria’s hand slides to the back of Chey’s neck, guiding her in with exaggerated flair while the guys nearby pretend very poorly that they’re not enjoying the view.
Cheyenne laughs into the kiss, gripping Maria’s shoulder to steady herself as the moment stretches just long enough to satisfy the audience.
Across the circle, Silas lets out a quiet scoff.
The sound is subtle, almost lost under the noise, but the small smirk tugging at his mouth suggests he finds the whole display predictable. His gaze flicks briefly toward the two girls before returning to me again, like the performance barely earned his attention.
Of course he likes that. Typical man.
The thought barely finishes forming before Maria suddenly turns.
Without warning, she leans forward and plants a quick, messy kiss on my lips.
Her hands cup my cheeks for half a second, the scent of cherry lip gloss and vodka filling my nose before I can even process what’s happening. The contact is sloppy, entirely fueled by alcohol.
When she pulls away, my face feels damp with gloss and laughter.
“Can’t leave you out,” she murmurs, already retreating back to her spot.
The circle roars with laughter again, someone clapping loudly while another shouts something unintelligible over the music.
Across from me, Silas’s expression doesn’t change much.
But the way his eyes narrow slightly as he watches the moment settle across my face tells me he noticed every second of it.
The surprise of it lingers for a moment after Maria pulls away.
My fingers rise instinctively to my lips, brushing over the sticky mix of cherry gloss and vodka she left behind. The room is still loud with laughter and whistles, but the sound feels distant for a second as the realization settles.
Had that just been...my first kiss?
The thought lands strangely in my chest.
Maria catches my expression immediately, shrugging with a sloppy grin, her shoulders lifting in a drunken apology.
“Sorry,” she giggles, clearly not very sorry at all.
The tension that had been twisting through my stomach loosens just enough for a breath of laughter to slip out. Shaking my head, I wipe the last of the gloss from my mouth.
“Don’t be,” I reply, letting the moment roll off me. “At least someone finally took the initiative.”
The circle laughs again, the energy of the room buzzing with drunken encouragement. Someone claps loudly behind us, another person shouting for the bottle to keep moving.
From across the circle, Silas finally speaks.
His voice cuts cleanly through the noise.
“No reason to stop on our account,” he says, his head tilting slightly as he watches the group. “I think it’s your turn.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes my attention snap toward him.
His posture still looks relaxed. One arm draped over his knee, shoulders loose, but his eyes are sharp in a way they hadn’t been earlier, the faint amusement replaced by something darker simmering underneath.
Is he… angry?
The thought flickers through me before I force my attention elsewhere.
