I’ve never really thought about it, but opening up to someone, breathing them in, how personal can you really get?

Sex is sex, but kissing, kissing is literally opening up your soul. It’s connecting on a level where you are literally facing someone and saying.

Here I am.

Here you are.

Own me.

Take me.

Love me.

Sex, well, sex, you don’t even need to kiss or make eye contact. It’s animalistic in its basic form for pleasure or to procreate.

But this, this feels—otherworldly.

Her lips are sweet and wet. I taste and devour as my tongue lingers on her lips only to touch hers, test it, remember it.

Quinn groans behind her, and a hand grips mine—his. I grip it right back while I press her against his chest, deepening the kiss.

I pull back. “A do-over.”

“A better one. Let’s be honest… she’s the worst.”

I lock eyes with Quinn, and he nods at me, then looks away. “I know this isn’t like… I mean, I’m just saying no pressure. Clearly, I need to find my own person and—“

“—Don’t be a dick.” I interrupt. “My girlfriends giving us something Tessa never did.”

Quinn swallows. “It’s perfect.”

And I almost laugh because, yeah, us three, totally perfect, in a mess of tangled kisses, do-overs, bad decisions, followed by really fucking good ones.

Ones that feel so good I don’t even know what’s happening even when my best friend’s hand slides by mine, even though I know what he’s doing.

It really is the best.

She moans.

“…but honestly, kiss her again after this, and I’ll kick your ass…” I say as we walk toward the theater room.

He laughs. “Noted.”

“No penetration,” I say under my breath.

“Kill joy,” he whispers.

MB turns and glares at us. “Talking behind my back when it was my brilliant idea to take away your trauma, hmm?”

“Sorry,” we both mumble.

Quinn shoves me.

I shove him back.

MB bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “Um, but really like, we weren’t really aware of what went on in that video when it was happening, so we haven’t really done this.”

“And you think I have?” she asks once we’re in the dark theater room.

“No!” Quinn yells. “It’s just, like, you know… logistics.”

MB turns to us, completely serious. “Logistics, whatever do you mean?”

“Yes, please describe; details would be preferable.” I nearly choke on my words to keep from laughing as Quinn raises his hands, lowers them, then raises them again like he’s getting ready to teach a class.

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you from embarrassing the hell out of yourself,” MB says. “It is what it is. You have a bad memory from something that should have never happened to you.” She turns to me. “That’s my boyfriend over there, who I love, Quinn smiles. “You’re one of my best friends, something I never thought I’d have.”

I nod.

“And,” she continues. “Back in the day, a very wise therapist told me to erase with new things, so that’s what we’re doing, no fighting, no contracts, no goals, no jealousy, no more nights like these, just… us, in this moment, right now. Healing.”