Mixed Flavors
Disclaimer: Don't own The OC or any of the characters or any of the plotlines or the props...That'd be kinda cool if I owned one of the props. But, yeah, I don't.
A/N: Now this is something new from me! I usually like to write things when I've either experienced them or I just know the characters really well that it turns out to be pretty much in-character. Now, I'm not sure if this is in-character and I really haven't experienced it. But, ah, part of my "growth process as a writer" or whatevs. Read it, review it, and don't flame it.
She sneaks her hand behind your neck and breathes in your ear. You've never been this close to any girl before. You never imagined you would be, and you never imagined you'd like it.
Her soft, blonde hair brushes your shoulder and you realize how annoying it is that you're a lot shorter then her. You want her to say something, you want something to wake you up from your haze, but nothing does.
You want to think of your boyfriend. The perfect guy waiting for you. You want to think of your ex-boyfriend. The quirky guy pining over you. The guy that dated the girl that's pressed against you as you support yourself with the cold wall of the club. Juice bar. Whatever, you don't care.
You're really wondering if you care about anything anymore. All you care about is that if willAlex shift her head a little and kisse you or she needs to back the fuck off because she's making it hard to breathe or concentrate or remember that you're straight.
Or, that you used to be.
You blink twice, eyelashes fluttering against her cheek. You look into her eyes and you swear she reminds you of a doll. Like a Barbie doll, but a punk rocker Barbie doll. Alex is not exactly punk rocker but you'll take it.
You stop giving a shit about everything and just close the gap, because screw it, attraction is attraction and if you like her you do. And you stop thinking about the fact that you've got two guys drooling at your feet and that you're kissing the girlfriend of your best friend.
There's no tongue. You want to keep that in mind. So, that way, it's not like hot. It's just a little more then friendly.
She pulls away, just to slip her tongue in your mouth with no invitation. But you still manage to RSVP.
You open your eyes quickly and jerk out of her reach. "I'm not –" you start.
She raises a thin eyebrow and looks amused. "Sure seemed like you were," she says victoriously.
Not that there's any victory.
"Uh, tell Coop I said hey. I have to go meet my boyfriend," you mutter quickly, positive that you must be twelve shades of pink and red with embarrassment right now.
She just runs a hand through her hair. The hair that you were just touching.
"And please, don't mention this. Never do, I've never done that to Coop, you know? I'm not a bad –" you say, but she cuts you off.
"Friend or straight chick? I'm not about to give myself away, alright? Don't worry about it," she says in her same cool tone.
You get the hell out of there without a goodbye and then lick your lips. Cranberry and apricot. Mixed flavors. You've never kissed anyone that tasted so... fruity. How ironic.
Cohen tasted like a lot of things. Zach tastes like vanilla. You taste like apricot.
Alex tastes like lip glossed sugary treats, cranberries, a moment frozen. You want more.
But if you're so practical, you'll never taste it again.