Best Thing In Town

"Sorry," he mumbles against my lips, kissing me again. "Damn doorbell." More mumbling, more kissing. "Sorry, sorry, sorry." He kisses me again, trying to pull himself away—but kissing me again after that.

The doorbell keeps ringing, and I know he has to leave me—or at least my lips. "Sorry," I don't even hear him when he speaks, but feel the word on my lips. His hands slide off of my hips slowly, while his eyes stay fixed onto mine. "I'm kind of feeling regretful that other people exist in the world besides us." He chuckles at himself, his eyes sparkling. I laugh lightly, but my heart gives a throb when I feel his lips brush my forehead. My laughing fades, and my lips turn. Billie has kissed my lips, my neck, and other parts of me but never my forehead. And when his lips are placed on my forehead, pressing gently, sweetly, I feel different.

His hand falls into mine as he guides me off the dryer. He leads me up the basement stairs, and before opening the door to reenter the main part of his home, and before welcoming all of his guests, he turns to me, a smirk already on his face. "Well I guess it's time to ride out this storm, isn't it?"

I kiss him and open the door.

From the kitchen, I watch him as he greets all the people filing in through his front door. His smile is magnificent, more than usual. There's something beneath, but I don't know what it is. And before I have time to dwell--on his smile, on anything--his hand is on the small of my back and he is introducing me to everyone around us.

After a long, but enjoyable, process of hug, handshake, hug, I am introduced to everyone and I feel comfortable.

"Alright, man, let's get this going!" One guy says, slapping Billie's back and heading to the back door as if he knows exactly where he is going. Which I find out only seconds later, that he, in fact, knew exactly where he was going. He comes back through the door with an ice chest, and starts handing out cans of beer. Everyone takes them graciously, and starts forming their loose circles of people throughout Billie's home.

"Enjoy yourself, alright?" He leans into me to say, kisses the skin between my ear and my neck, and goes in the opposite direction. I feel a smile present on my lips for two reasons. One, of course, because of him. And two because I am succeeding at not dwelling like a hermit in my own head. However, there is still a chance I can slip up, and back into my head. Not wanting to take the chance, I go over to the guy standing next to the ice chest. He has speckled hazel eyes and an inviting, light smile. "Here ya go," he says when he places the beer in my hand. I side hug him and turn, sipping the beer and walking toward the back window.

The rain falls relentlessly, showing no mercy. As the storm worsens, I find myself finding it beautiful. Before, weather was just weather to me. Rain or shine, it was only weather. But standing in front of this window, I feel it more personally.

I take another sip. It's my own personal drinking game; every time I begin to think too much on one topic, I drink. And it works.

Hours pass and beer cans pile up in the trash can. Smiles become dizzy and laughs become louder. Hugging easier, and kissing sloppier.

I am sitting on the arm of a chair talking to a brown haired girl. We are telling stories of our memories and leaning forward every time we laugh. She is a year younger than me, and is telling me stories of when she was a kid and lived in Wyoming. She tells them so well that I feel like I'm in Wyoming—or I'm just drunk.

"Hey, lady." Lips meet my already warm cheek and a hand reaches my side.

"Billie." His name comes out softer than I intended and I chuckle slightly at the surprise. He smiles, amused, and lifts me up gracefully. He holds me by his side.

"She's something, huh?" He says to the girl even though he is looking at me. She nods sweetly in response and gets up from her seat as well and walks toward a group of people. I smile after her before returning my gaze to Billie's.

He hums lazily and sits down in the chair he has just taken me from, and pulls me onto his lap. We are facing the glass doors that lead to the backyard. It is dark outside, but I can still see the endless sheet of rain. I look back to Billie and he is already looking at me. I smile and he does too. I look to the rain again, and become effortlessly mesmerized. The rain will not stop for anything.

"This is turning out pretty damn good, huh?" Billie says to me as his forefinger trails the side of the chair. I turn around in his lap to look at him. His cloudy green eyes, look up at me briefly, before he turns to look in the opposite direction, taking everything in. I follow his stare, and see all the people smiling, laughing, drinking, sharing with each other. Everyone is happy and the music is good.

Other parties had been different; fights, tension, not enough alcohol. But Billie had pulled this off. And I feel proud of him.

"Wow."

"What?" He says to me.

Shit. "Nothing." Hasty response, and I look away.

My thoughts are swimming.

Everyone's hazy faces reach me. They are all happy. They are proud of Billie, too.

"Hell of a party, man!" " Seems you're the only one with some damn sense in this town, Armstrong. This is great!" "One fucking good idea, if you ask me. Wish I thought of it myself!" "Great to see ya again, Bill! You're killing it tonight!" The compliments slurred to him were endless.

And gracefully dazed, he smiled at every single remark he was given.

Now I am sitting in his lap, and now he is taking his turn to admire everyone else.

My chest feels like lead.

Now I am trying to muster up enough courage to kiss him on the forehead like he had kissed me earlier, because I think that's what I should do. It's what I want to do. I want to show him I am proud of him, and the forehead seems like the only place for me to tell him, but just before I lean forward—

"Fuck."

The power went out.