t w e n t y - n i n e : impulse

Without looking back, I lead him to grandma’s pool house.

We never break the kiss as we continue down the stone path. I consider skinny dipping, but it’s November, and the pool is closed. Luckily, the pool house is open. I thrust my tongue into his mouth, swirling it around his. His hands trail my body, over my hips, over my chest—my ass.

I just know his face is some smeared, muted shade of my lipstick.

I’ve never done something like this. I’ve never just taken risks for the hell of it.

He pushes me onto one of the couches and peels my dress up.

“Wait,” I say, breathlessly panting.

“Something wrong?” he whispers roughly. He’s panting, too—hard.

I can see that he already has a yellow wrapper from his wallet. This is really happening.

“Are you—”

“No,” I say.

“—okay?” he finishes.

“Oh,”