Pretty

She told me that she thought I was pretty.
I smiled politely, shifting uncomfortably at her steady gaze as it roved my body, not quite understanding what she saw in me.
Her eyes finally fixated on mine, and she smiled back at me in a slow, easy smile. She ran a hand through her impossibly long hair, and wet her lips with her tongue before abruptly looking away to answer her beeping phone.
She talked as she texted, but I only half listened. I was distracted.
She kept brushing my knee with her own.
I recoiled from her, getting up to go to the bathroom was my excuse. But I had to go back eventually.
I reluctantly left the safety of the bathroom and sat beside her again at the kitchen table. She was stuffing cheetos into her mouth as she watched some garbage on MTV.
She laughed, orange dust escaping her lips.
I gingerly took a cheeto and popped it into my mouth.
Then she asked me if I wanted to play a game.
I agreed, although I don’t know why.
I hate games.
It must have been her persuasive, bright blue eyes.
She told me that the game was called “gay chicken.” She explained the rules, although there weren’t many.
If I got scared of how close her lips were to mine and backed out before we kissed, I’d be the chicken.
So then her face was near mine.
And it kept getting closer.
Her eyes appeared larger, until she only had one eye.
I felt her breath fan across my face as she whispered, “Kate, I like you.”
Then she kissed me, soft and sweet.
She tasted like cheetos.
I went along with it, feeling dirty to be kissing another girl.
But then her hand brushed my breast as it made its way to my back, pulling me closer to her.
I shivered.
Then I shuddered.
I’m straight. Why was I leading her on?
I pulled away, scared of her reaction to my rejection.
Her head was bent as she grasped the edge of table, letting out deep breaths.
Then she finally met my eyes. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes looked sad.
I apologized profusely, then stood up to leave.