You weren’t supposed to like her. She was your brother’s girlfriend you really weren’t supposed to like her.

And she definitely wasn’t supposed to like you either but the way you’d treat her was hard to ignore, the way you’d look at her as if she was the most precious thing in the world was hard to ignore, everything about you was hard to ignore.

And Jesus the way you knew your way with words, without even trying you’d make her swoon over a simple compliment because your eyes and the small smile on your lips made it obvious you meant it.

And the way you understood her? The way you let her vent to you about her mother’s expectations? Yeah how could you blame her for liking you more than your brother but…you…were everything he wasn’t.

But she couldn’t break up with Jeff again especially for you because her mother would probably put her head on a stick if she found out she was more into her boyfriend’s trans brother.

And this was definitely not supposed to happen but she had her fair and share of drinks at the party and you…you just looked so good with those jeans and that cropped shirt and anyways, Jeff had left early to drive a very drunk Shauna home so when you suggested you driving her home so she would be safe something in her snapped.

And that’s where you two were at the moment in the back of her car making out rather drunkenly windows fogged up, lipstick smudges all over your lips, neck, and jaw.

You don’t even remember who leaned in first. Maybe it was you, maybe it was her — maybe it was inevitable. Her lipstick is smeared on your lips, your jaw, the corner of your neck where she keeps pressing desperate kisses like she’s trying to make a claim she knows she has no right to.

Your hands are in her hair, her hands are under your shirt, fingertips skating over skin that shouldn’t be for her but god, it feels so right you almost laugh into her mouth.

She giggles when you bite her lip a little too hard, then muffles the sound with another kiss, deeper this time, tongue sliding over yours like she wants to taste every secret you’ve been too careful to hide.

You pull back for air but she chases you, her breath hot and sweet and tasting faintly of rum. 
“Fuck—” you whisper when she tugs at your shirt, knuckles brushing the edge of your binder. Her eyes flutter open, wide and so full of wanting it nearly knocks the guilt out of you. Nearly.

“You’re so—” she tries to say but your mouth is back on hers, swallowing the confession before it can ruin the moment. Because if you hear it, you might say it back. You might tell her you’d ruin everything for her — Jeff, your brother, the whole fucking mess — if she asked.

Her nails dig into your waist as she shifts, straddling your lap now in the cramped backseat, her hips rocking down just enough to make you groan.

The windows are dripping with condensation, the night air fogging around your sweat and heat and everything you’re not supposed to be.

“Tell me to stop,” you murmur against her throat, words muffled by the soft skin there. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

But she only tilts her head back, breath hitching, her fingers tangled in your hair now, pulling you closer instead of pushing you away. 
“Don’t,” she breathes, voice wrecked and pleading. “Please, don’t.”