That Summer Night on Frenchmen Street by Chris Clarkson

Author:Chris Clarkson [Clarkson, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lee & Low Books
Published: 2022-01-10T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

After dinner, Saint invited us to the den for a game. Four giant pillows were set out on the expensive-looking rug. I took the pillow beside Tennessee.

“Friends, we’re playing twenty questions,” Saint announced, still standing. “Here are the rules: I ask y’all questions and y’all answer.”

Joel scowled at his boo. “I don’t think that’s how this game works.”

“That’s how my version of this game works.” Saint switched around the room. His nighttime attire was fabulous. He dramatically flipped his floral-print silk nightgown. He was so unapologetic. I loved it! Serving lewks left to right. Yaaass, honey. “Tenn, you’re first, my straight-challenged friend,” Saint said.

Tennessee, sitting next to me, straightened his back.

I glanced at Tennessee. He was tracing circles on the blue-and-white-checkered rug we were sitting on. He lifted his head, his eyes kind of wide. “Um, okay. What’s my … err … question?” he asked Saint.

Saint tucked his hand underneath his chin. He sauntered, hips hips hips, over to Joel and sank onto the pillow beside him. Saint propped his elbow up on Joel’s shoulders and ran his hands through Joel’s waves. I expected Joel to jerk his head back, because he was hella serious about people touching his hair, but he didn’t. Weird and wow.

“Kiss her,” Saint said.

Wait. What?

“That’s not a question,” Joel said quickly.

Tennessee’s mouth dropped.

Before Joel could start bellyaching again, I took over. I scooted closer to Tennessee, cupped his chin, and turned his face to me. They were all watching.

Closing my eyes, I brought my face closer to Tennessee’s.

Thirty percent like meant kissing him wasn’t a thing. It was just lips and not at all sexy because we had an audience. I inched closer to him. I touched his face. His eyelids closed partially. He licked his lips. He smelled like citrus, sandalwood, and spearmint. One kiss wasn’t a big deal. In fact, one kiss would prove that I didn’t actually like him … and I would be free!

I pressed my lips against his. His lips were soft and full.

When he kissed me, his mouth opened all the way.

I felt his tongue and his nose pressed against mine.

Tennessee’s thumb was now tracing sketches against my cheekbones. Give the boy an inch and …

I breathed and pulled away from his greedy hands and his spearmint-flavored lips. “Satisfied?” I asked Saint, smirking as if my whole body wasn’t tingling.

The worst thing about that kiss, the absolute worst thing, was damn percentages. Tennessee was at a solid 30 percent. Eating satsumas whole and being a weirdo by massaging ankles got him there. But that spearmint-flavored kiss bumped him up to 50 percent.

I was in 50 percent like with Tennessee Williams, and that was horrendous.

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