I reach over and clamp my hand over his mouth. “You’re way hotter when you aren’t speaking.”
When he finally shuts his mouth, I remove my hand and put it back behind my head. Again, we both go a while without speaking. He’s probably silently gloating in the fact that I admitted I’m attracted to him, while I’m silently cringing that he’s now privy to that knowledge.
“I’m bored,” he says.
“So go home.”
“I don’t want to. What do you do when you’re bored? You don’t have internet or TV. Do you just sit around all day and think about how hot I am?”
I roll my eyes. “I read,” I say. “A lot. Sometimes I bake. Sometimes I run.”
“Read, bake and run. And fantasize about me. What a riveting life you lead.”
“I like my life.”
“I sort of like it, too,” he says. He rolls over and grabs the book off of my nightstand. “Here, read this.”
I take the book out of his hands and open it to the marker on page two. It’s as far as I’ve gotten. “You want me to read it out loud? You’re that bored?”
“Pretty damn bored.”
“It’s a romance,” I warn.
“Like I said. Pretty damn bored. Read.”
I scoot my pillow up toward the headboard and make myself comfortable, then start reading.
This morning if you would have told me I’d be reading a romance novel to Dean Holder in my bed tonight, I’d tell you that you were crazy. But then again, I’m obviously not the best judge of crazy.
When I open my eyes, I immediately slide my hand to the other side of the bed, but it’s empty. I sit up and look around. My light is off and my covers are on. The book is closed on the nightstand, so I pick it up. There’s a bookmark almost three-quarters of the way through.
I read until I fell asleep? Oh, no, I fell asleep. I throw the covers off and walk to the kitchen, then flip on the light and look around in shock. The entire kitchen is clean and all the cookies and brownies are wrapped in saran wrap. I look down at my phone sitting on the counter and pick it up to find a new text message.
You fell asleep right when she was about to find out her mother’s secret. How dare you. I’ll be back tomorrow night so you can finish reading it to me. And by the way, you have really bad breath and you snore way too loud.
I laugh. I’m also grinning like an idiot, but luckily no one is here to witness it. I glance at the clock on the stove and it’s only just past two in the morning, so I go back to the bedroom and crawl into bed, hoping he really does show up tomorrow night. I don’t know how this hopeless boy weaseled his way into my life this week, but I know I’m definitely not ready for him to leave.
Saturday, September 1st, 2012 5:05 p.m.
I’ve learned an invaluable lesson about lust today. It causes double the work. I took two showers today, instead of just one. I changed clothes four times instead of the usual two. I’ve cleaned the house once (that’s one more than I usually clean it) and I’ve checked the time on the clock no less than a thousand times. I may have checked my phone for incoming texts just as many.
Unfortunately, he didn’t state in his text from last night what time he would be here, so by five o’clock I’m pretty much sitting and waiting. There isn’t much else to do, since I’ve already baked enough sweets for an entire year and I’ve ran no less than four miles today. I thought about cooking dinner for us, but I have no idea what time he’s coming over, so I wouldn’t know when to have it ready. I’m sitting on the couch, drumming my nails on the sofa, when I get a text from him.
What time can I come over? Not that I’m looking forward to it or anything. You’re really, really boring.
He texted me. Why didn’t I think of that? I should have texted him a few hours ago to ask what time he would be here. It would have saved me so much unnecessary, pathetic fretting.
Be here at seven. And bring me something to eat. I’m not cooking for you.
I set the phone down and stare at it. An hour and forty five minutes to go. Now what? I look around at my empty living room and, for the first time ever, the boredom starts to have a negative affect on me. Up until this week, I was pretty content with my lackluster life. I wonder if being exposed to the temptations of technology has left me wanting more, or if it’s being exposed to the temptations of Holder. Probably both.
I stretch my legs out on the coffee table in front of me. I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt today after finally deciding to give my sweatpants a break. I also have my hair down, but only because Holder has never seen me in anything other than a ponytail. Not that I’m trying to impress him.
I’m totally trying to impress him.
I pick up a magazine and flip through it, but my leg is shaking and I’m fidgeting to the point that I can’t focus. I read the same page three times in a row, so I throw the magazine back on the coffee table and lean my head back into the couch. I stare at the ceiling. Then I stare at the wall. Then I stare at my toes and wonder if I should repaint them.
I’m going crazy.
I finally groan and reach for my phone, then text him again.
Now. Come right now. I’m bored out of my freaking mind and if you don’t come right now I’ll finish the book before you get here.
I hold the phone in my hands and watch the screen as it bounces up and down against my knee. He texts back right away.
Lol. I’m getting you food, bossy pants. Be there in twenty.
Lol? What the hell does that mean? Lots of love? Oh, God, that better not be it. He’ll be out the door faster than Matty-boy. But really, what the hell does it mean?
I stop thinking about it and focus on the last word. Twenty. Twenty minutes. Oh, shit, that suddenly seems way too soon. I run to the bathroom and check my hair, my clothes, my breath. I make a quick run through the house, cleaning it for the second time today. When the doorbell finally rings, I actually know what to do this time. Open it.
He’s standing with two armfuls of groceries, looking very domesticated. I eye the groceries suspiciously. He holds the sacks up and shrugs. “One of us has to be the hospitable one.” He eases past me and walks straight to the kitchen and sets the sacks on the counter. “I hope you like spaghetti and meatballs, because that’s what you’re getting.” He begins removing items from the sacks and pulling cookware out of cabinets.
I shut the front door and walk to the bar. “You’re cooking dinner for me?”
“Actually, I’m cooking for me, but you’re welcome to eat some if you want.” He glances at me over his shoulder and smiles.
“Are you always so sarcastic?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Are you?”
“Do you always answer questions with questions?”
“Do you?”
I pick up a hand towel off the bar and throw it at him. He dodges it, then walks to the refrigerator. “You want something to drink?” he asks.
I put my elbows on the bar and rest my chin in my hands, watching him. “You’re offering to make me something to drink in my own house?”
He searches through the refrigerator shelves. “Do you want milk that tastes like ass or do you want soda?”
“Do we even have soda?” I’m almost positive I already drank up the stash I bought yesterday.
He leans back out of the refrigerator and arches an eyebrow. “Can either of us say anything that isn’t a question?”
I laugh. “I don’t know, can we?”
“How long do you think we can keep this up?” He finds a soda and grabs two glasses. “You want ice?”
“Are you having ice?” I’m not stopping with the questions until he does. I’m highly competitive.
He walks closer to me and places our glasses on the counter. “Do you think I should have ice?” he says with a challenging grin.
“Do you like ice?” I challenge back.
He nods his head, impressed that I’ve kept up to speed with him. “Is your ice any good?”
“Well, do you prefer crushed ice or cubed ice?”
He narrows his eyes at me, aware that I just trapped him. He can’t answer that one with a question. He pops the lid open and begins pouring the soda into my cup. “No ice for you.”
“Ha!” I say. “I win.”
He laughs and walks back to the stove. “I let you win because I feel sorry for you. Anyone that snores as bad as you do deserves a break every now and then.”
I smirk at him. “You know, the insults are really only funny when they’re in text form.” I pick my glass up and take a drink. It definitely needs ice. I walk to the freezer and pull out a few ice cubes and drop them into my cup.
When I turn around, he’s standing right in front of me, staring down at me. The look in his eyes is slightly mischievous, but just serious enough that it causes my heart to palpitate. He takes a step forward until my back meets the refrigerator behind me. He casually lifts his arm and places his hand on the refrigerator beside my head.
I don’t know how I’m not sinking to the floor right now. My knees feel like they’re about to give out.
“You know I’m kidding, right?” he says softly. His eyes are scrolling over my face and he’s smiling just enough that his dimples are showing.
I nod and hope he backs the hell away from me, because I’m about to have an asthma attack and I don’t even have asthma.
“Good,” he says, moving in just a couple more inches. “Because you don’t snore. In fact, you’re pretty damn adorable when you sleep.”
He really shouldn’t say things like that. Especially when he’s leaning in this close to me. His arm bends at the elbow and he’s suddenly a whole lot closer. He leans in toward my ear and I inhale sharply.
“Sky,” he whispers seductively into my ear. “I need you…to move. I need in the fridge.” He slowly pulls back and keeps his eyes trained on mine, watching for my reaction. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth and he tries to hold it in, but he breaks out in laughter.
I push against his chest and duck under his arm. “You’re such an ass!”
He opens the refrigerator, still laughing. “I’m sorry, but damn. You’re so blatantly attracted to me, it’s hard not to tease you.”
I know he’s joking, but it still embarrasses the hell out of me. I sit back down at the bar and drop my head into my hands. I’m beginning to hate the girl he’s turning me into. It wouldn’t be near as hard to be around him if I wouldn’t have slipped and told him I was attracted to him. It also wouldn’t be as hard if he weren’t so funny. And sweet, when he wants to be. And hot. I guess that’s what makes lust so bittersweet. The feeling is beautiful, but the effort it takes to deny it is way too hard.
“Want to know something?” he asks. I look up at him and he’s looking down at the pan in front of him, stirring.
“Probably not.”
He glances at me for a few seconds, then looks back down at the pan. “It might make you feel better.”
“I doubt it.”
He cuts his eyes to me again and the playful smile is gone from his lips. He reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a pan, then walks to the sink and fills it with water. He walks back to the stove and begins stirring again. “I might be a little bit attracted to you, too,” he says.
I unnoticeably inhale, then let out a slow, controlled breath in an attempt not to appear blindsided by that comment.
“Just a little bit?” I ask, doing what I do best by infusing awkward moments with sarcasm.
He smiles again, but keeps his eyes trained on the pan in front of him. The room grows silent for several minutes. He’s focused on cooking and I’m focused on him. I watch him as he moves effortlessly around the kitchen and I’m in awe at his level of comfort. This is my house and I’m more nervous than he is. I can’t stop fidgeting and I wish he would start talking again. He doesn’t seem as affected by the silence, but it’s looming in the air around me and I need to get rid of it.
“What does lol mean?”
He laughs. “Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. You typed it in your text earlier.”
“It means laugh out loud. You use it when you think something is funny.”
I can’t deny the relief I feel that it wasn’t lots of love.
“Huh,” I say. “That’s dumb.”
“Yeah, it is pretty dumb. It’s just habit though, and the abbreviated texts make it a lot faster to type once you get the hang of it. Sort of like OMG and WTF and IDK and…”
“Oh, God, stop,” I say, interrupting him before he spouts off more abbreviations. “You speaking in abbreviated text form is really unattractive.”
He turns to me and winks, then walks to the oven. “I’ll never do it again, then.”
And it happens again…the silence. Yesterday the silence between us was fine, but for some reason, it’s incredibly awkward tonight. It is for me, anyway. I’m beginning to think I’m just nervous for what the rest of the night holds. It’s obvious with the chemistry between us that we’ll end up kissing eventually. It’s just really hard to focus on the here and now and be engaged in conversation when that’s the only thing on my mind. I can’t stand not knowing when he’ll do it. Will he wait until after dinner when my breath smells like garlic and onions? Will he wait until it’s time for him to leave? Will he just spring it on me when I’m least expecting it? I almost just want to get it over with right now. Cut to the chase so the inevitable can be put aside and we can get on with the night.
“You okay?” he asks. I snap my gaze back up to his and he’s standing across the bar from me. “Where’d you go? You checked out for a while there.”
I shake my head and pull myself back into the conversation. “I’m fine.”
He picks up a knife and begins chopping a tomato. Even his tomato chopping skills are effortless. Is there anything this boy is bad at? His knife stills on the cutting board and I look up at him. He’s looking down at me with a serious expression.
“Where’d you go, Sky?” He watches me for a few seconds, waiting on my response. When I fail to give him one, he drops his eyes back to the cutting board.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” I ask.
He squints his eyes and ponders my question, then shakes his head. “I told you that I’ll only ever be honest with you, so no. I can’t promise I won’t laugh because you’re kind of funny and that’s only setting myself up for failure.”
“Are you always so difficult?”
He grins at me, but doesn’t respond. He keeps eyeing me like he’s challenging me to say what’s really on my mind. Unfortunately, I don’t back down from challenges.
“Okay, fine.” I sit up straight in my chair and take a deep breath, then let all my thoughts out at once. “I’m really not any good at this whole dating thing, and I don’t even know if this is a date, but I know that whatever it is, it’s a little more than just two friends hanging out, and knowing that makes me think about later tonight when it’s time for you to leave and whether or not you plan to kiss me and I’m the type of person who hates surprises so I can’t stop feeling awkward about it because I do want you to kiss me and this may be presumptuous of me, but I sort of think you want to kiss me, too, and so I was thinking how much easier it would be if we just went ahead and kissed already so you can go back to cooking dinner and I can stop trying to mentally map out how our night’s about to play out.” I inhale an incredibly huge breath, being as though I have none left in my lungs.
He stopped chopping somewhere in the middle of that rant, but I’m not sure which part. He’s looking at me with his mouth slightly agape. I take a deep breath and slowly exhale, thinking I may have just completely sent him out the front door. And sadly, I wouldn’t blame him if he ran.
He lays the knife gently on the cutting board and places his palms on the counter in front of him, never breaking his gaze from mine. I fold my hands in my lap and wait for a reaction. It’s all I can do.
“That,” he says, pointedly, “was the longest run-on sentence I’ve ever heard.”
I roll my eyes and slouch back against my seat, then fold my arms across my chest. I just practically begged him to kiss me, and he’s critiquing my grammar?
“Relax,” he says with a grin. He slides the tomatoes off the cutting board and into the pan, then places it on the stove. He adjusts the temperature of one of the burners and pours the pasta into the boiling water. Once everything is set, he dries his hands on the hand towel, then walks around the bar to where I’m seated.
“Stand up,” he directs.
I look up at him warily, but I do what he says. Slowly. When I’m standing up, facing him, he places his hands on my shoulders and looks around the room. “Hmm,” he says, thinking audibly. He glances into the kitchen, then slides his hands down my shoulders and grabs my wrists. “I sort of liked the fridge backdrop.” He pulls me into the kitchen, then positions me like a puppet with my back against the refrigerator. He places both of his hands against the refrigerator on either side of my head, and looks down at me.
It’s not the most romantic way I’ve pictured him kissing me, but I guess it’ll do. I just want to get it over with. Especially now that he’s making such a big production out of it. He begins to lean in toward me, so I take a deep breath and close my eyes.
I wait.
And I wait.
Nothing happens.
I open my eyes and he’s so close I actually flinch, which only makes him laugh. He doesn’t back away, though, and his breath teases my lips like fingers. He smells like mint leaves and soda and I never thought the two would make a good combination, but they really do.
“Sky?” he says, quietly. “I’m not trying to torture you or anything, but I already made up my mind before I came over here. I’m not kissing you tonight.”
His words cause my stomach to sink from the weight of my disappointment. My self-confidence has just gone out the window, and I really need an ego building text from Six right now.
“Why not?”
He slowly drops one of his hands and brings it to my face, then traces down my cheek with his fingers. I try not to shudder under his touch, but it’s taking every ounce of my willpower not to appear completely flustered right now. His eyes follow his hand as it slowly moves down my jaw, then my neck, stopping at my shoulder. He brings his eyes back to mine and there’s an undeniable amount of lust in them. Seeing the look in his eyes eases my disappointment by a tiny fraction.
“I want to kiss you,” he says. “Believe me, I do.” He drops his eyes to my lips and brings his hand back up to my cheek, cupping it. I willingly lean into his palm this time. I pretty much relinquished control to him the moment he walked through the front door. Now I’m nothing but putty in his hands.
“But if you really want to, then why don’t you?” I’m terrified he’s about to spout off an excuse that contains the word girlfriend.
He cases my face in both of his hands and tilts my face up toward his. He brushes his thumbs back and forth along my cheekbones and I can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against mine. “Because,” he whispers. “I’m afraid you won’t feel it.”
I suck in a quick breath and hold it. The conversation we had on my bed last night replays in my head, and I realize that I never should have told him any of that. I never should have said I feel nothing but numbness when I kiss people, because he’s the absolute exception to the rule. I bring my hand to his hand on my cheek, and I cover it with mine.
I’ll feel it, Holder. I already do. I want to say those words out loud, but I can’t. Instead, I just nod.
He closes his eyes and inhales, then pulls me away from the refrigerator and into his chest. He wraps one arm around my back and holds his other hand against my head. My arms are still awkwardly at my sides, so I tentatively bring them up and wrap them around his waist. When I do this, I quietly gasp at the peacefulness that consumes me, being wrapped up in him like this. We both simultaneously pull each other closer and he kisses me on top of the head. It’s not the kiss I was expecting, but I’m pretty sure I love it just as much.
We’re standing in the same position when the timer on the oven dings. He doesn’t immediately release me though, which makes me smile. When he does begin to drop his arms, I look down to the floor, unable to look at him. Somehow, me trying to rectify the awkwardness about kissing him has just made things even more awkward for me.
As if he can sense my embarrassment, he takes both of my hands in his and interlocks our fingers. “Look at me.” I lift my eyes to his, trying to hide the disappointment from realizing our mutual attraction is on two different levels. “Sky, I’m not kissing you tonight but believe me when I tell you, I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl more. So stop thinking I’m not attracted to you because you have no idea just how much I am. You can hold my hand, you can run your fingers through my hair, you can straddle me while I feed you spaghetti, but you are not getting kissed tonight. And probably not tomorrow, either. I need this. I need to know for sure that you’re feeling every single thing that I’m feeling the moment my lips touch yours. Because I want your first kiss to be the best first kiss in the history of first kisses.” He pulls my hand up to his mouth and kisses it. “Now stop sulking and help me finish the meatballs.”
I grin, because that was seriously the best excuse ever for being turned down. He could turn me down every day for the rest of my life, so long as it’s followed up by that excuse.
He swings our hands between us, peering down at me. “Okay?” he says. “Is that enough to get you through a couple more dates?”
I nod. “Yep. But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You said you want my first kiss to be the best first kiss, but this won’t be my first kiss. You know that.”
He narrows his eyes and pulls his hands from mine, then cups my face again. He pushes me back against the refrigerator and brings his lips dangerously close to mine. The smile is gone from his eyes and is replaced by a very serious expression. An expression so intense, I stop breathing.
He leans in excruciatingly slowly until his lips just barely reach mine, and the anticipation of them alone is enough to paralyze me. He doesn’t close his eyes, so neither do I. He holds me in this position for a moment, allowing our breath to blend between us. I’ve never felt so helpless and out of control of myself, and if he doesn’t do something within the next three seconds, I’m more than likely going to pounce him.
He looks at my lips and when he does, it prompts me to pull my bottom lip between my teeth. Otherwise, I just might bite him.
“Let me inform you of something,” he says in a low voice. “The moment my lips touch yours, it will be your first kiss. Because if you’ve never felt anything when someone’s kissed you, then no one’s ever really kissed you. Not the way I plan on kissing you.”
He drops his hands and keeps his eyes locked on mine while he backs up to the stove. He turns around to tend to the pasta like he didn’t just ruin me for any other guy for the rest of my life.
I can’t feel my legs, so I do the only thing I can. I slide down the refrigerator until my butt meets the floor, and I inhale.
Saturday, September 1st, 2012 7:15 p.m.
“Your spaghetti sucks ass.” I take another bite and close my eyes, savoring what is possibly the best pasta that’s ever passed my lips.
“You love it and you know it,” he says. He stands up from the table and grabs two napkins, then brings them back and hands me one. “Now wipe your chin, you’ve got sucky ass spaghetti sauce all over it.”
After the incident against the refrigerator, the night pretty much went back to normal. He gave me a glass of water and helped me stand up, then slapped me on the ass and put me to work. It was all I needed to let go of the awkwardness. A good slap on the ass.
“Have you ever played Dinner Quest?” I ask him.
He slowly shakes his head. “Do I want to?”
I nod. “It’s a good way to get to know each other. After our next date, we’ll be spending most of our time making out, so we need to get all the questions out of the way now.”
He laughs. “Fair enough. How do you play?”
“I ask you a really personal, uncomfortable question and you aren’t allowed to take a drink or eat a bite of food until you answer it honestly. And vice versa.”
“Sounds easy enough,” he says. “What if I don’t answer the question?”
“You starve to death.”
He drums his fingers on the table, then lays his fork down. “I’m in.”
I probably should have had questions prepared, but considering I just made this game up thirty seconds ago, that would have been sort of hard. I take a sip of what’s left of my watered down soda and think. I’m a little nervous about delving too deep, it always seems to end badly with us.
“Okay, I have one.” I set my cup down on the table and lean back in my chair. “Why did you follow me to my car at the grocery store?”
“Like I said, I thought you were someone else.”
“I know, but who?”
He shifts uncomfortably in his seat and clears his throat. He naturally reaches for his glass, but I intercept it.
“No drinks. Answer the question first.”
He sighs, but eventually relents. “I wasn’t sure who you reminded me of, you just reminded me of someone. I didn’t realize until later that you reminded me of my sister.”
I crinkle my nose. “I remind you of your sister?” I wince. “That’s kind of gross, Holder.”
He laughs, then grimaces. “No, not like that. Not like that at all, you don’t even look anything like she did. There was just something about seeing you that made me think of her. And I don’t even know why I followed you. It was all so surreal. The whole situation was a little bizarre, and then running into you in front of my house later…” He stops mid-sentence and looks down at his hand as he traces the rim of his plate with his fingers. “It was like it was meant to happen,” he says quietly.
I take a deep breath and absorb his answer, careful to tiptoe around that last sentence. He looks up at me with a nervous glance and I realize that he thinks his answer may have just scared me. I smile at him reassuringly and point to his drink. “You can drink now,” I say. “Your turn to ask me a question.”
“Oh, this one’s easy,” he says. “I want to know whose toes I’m stepping on. I received a mysterious inbox message from someone today. All it said was, ‘If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, Jackass.’”
I laugh. “That would be Six. The bearer of my daily doses of positive affirmation.”
He nods. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He leans forward and narrows his eyes at me. “Because I’m pretty competitive, and if it came from a guy, my response would not have been as nice.”
“You responded? What’d you say?”
“Is that your question? Because if it isn’t, I’m taking another bite.”
“Hold your horses and answer the question,” I say.
“Yes, I responded to her text. I said, ‘How do I buy more minutes?’”
My heart is a big puddle of mush right now, and I’m trying not to grin. It’s really pathetic and sad. I shake my head. “I was only joking, that wasn’t my question. It’s still my turn.”
He puts his fork back down and rolls his eyes. “My food’s getting cold.”
I place my elbows on the table and fold my hands under my chin. “I want to know about your sister. And why you referred to her in the past tense.”
He tilts his head back and looks up, rubbing his hands down his face. “Ugh. You really ask the deep questions, huh?”
“That’s how the game is played. I didn’t make up the rules.”
He sighs again and smiles at me, but there’s a hint of sadness in his smile and it instantly makes me wish I could take the question back.
“Remember when I told you my family had a pretty f*cked up year last year?”
I nod.
He clears his throat and begins tracing the rim of his plate again. “She died thirteen months ago. She killed herself, even though my mother would rather we use the term, ‘purposefully overdosed.’”
He never stops looking at me when he speaks, so I show him the same respect, even though it’s really difficult to look him in the eyes right now. I have no idea how to respond to that, but it’s my own fault for bringing it up.
“What was her name?”
“Lesslie. I called her Les.”
Hearing his nickname for her stirs up sadness within me and I suddenly don’t feel like eating anymore. “Was she older than you?”
He leans forward and picks up his fork, then twirls it in his bowl. He brings the forkful of pasta to his mouth. “We were twins,” he says flatly, right before taking the bite.
Jesus. I reach for my drink, but he takes it out of my hands and shakes his head. “My turn,” he says with a mouthful. He finishes chewing and takes a sip, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I want to know the story about your dad.”
I’m the one groaning this time. I fold my arms on the table in front of me and accept my payback. “Like I said, I haven’t seen him since I was three. I don’t have any memories of him. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t even know what he looks like.”
“Your mom doesn’t have any pictures of him?”
It dawns on me when he asks this question that he doesn’t even know I’m adopted. “You remember when you said my mom looked really young? Well, it’s because she is. She adopted me.”
Being adopted isn’t really a stigma I’ve ever had to overcome. I’ve never been embarrassed by it, ashamed of it, or felt the need to hide the fact. But the way Holder is looking at me right now, you would think I just told him I was born with a penis. He’s staring at me uncomfortably and it makes me fidget. “What? You’ve never met anyone who was adopted?”
It takes him a few more seconds to recover, but he puts away his puzzled expression and locks it up, replacing it with a smile. “You were adopted when you were three? By Karen?”
I shake my head. “I was five. I was put into foster care when I was three, after my biological mother died. My dad couldn’t raise me on his own. Or he didn’t want to raise me on his own. Either way, I’m fine with it. I lucked out with Karen and I have no urge whatsoever to go figure it all out. If he wanted to know where I was, he’d come find me.”
I can tell he’s not finished with the questions by the look in his eyes, but I really want to take a bite and get the ball back in my court.
I point to his arm with my fork. “What does your tattoo mean?”
He holds his arm out and traces his fingers over it. “It’s a reminder. I got it after Les died.”
“A reminder for what?”
He picks up his cup and diverts his eyes from mine. It’s the only question he hasn’t been able to answer with direct eye contact. “It’s a reminder of the people I’ve let down in my life.” He takes a drink and places his glass back on the table, still unable to make eye contact.
“This game’s not very fun, is it?”
He laughs softly. “It’s really not. It sort of sucks ass.” He looks back up at me and smiles. “But we need to keep going because I still have questions. Do you remember anything from before you were adopted?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Bits and pieces, but it comes to a point that, when you don’t have anyone to validate your memories, you just lose them all. The only thing I have from before Karen adopted me is some jewelry, and I have no idea who it came from. I can’t distinguish now between what was reality, dreams or what I saw on TV.”
“Do you remember your mother?”
I pause for a moment and mull over his question. I don’t remember my mother. At all. That’s the only thing about my past that makes me sad. “Karen is my mother,” I say pointblank. “My turn. Last question, then we eat dessert.”
“Do you think we even have enough dessert?” he teases.
I glare at him, then ask my last question. “Why did you beat him up?”
I can tell by the shift in his expression that he doesn’t need me to elaborate on the question. He shakes his head and pushes his bowl away from him. “You don’t want to know the answer to that, Sky. I’ll take the punishment.”
“But I do want to know.”
He tilts his head sideways and brings his hand to his jaw, then pops his neck. He keeps his hand on his chin and rests his elbow on the table. “Like I told you before, I beat him up because he was an a*shole.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “That’s vague. You don’t do vague.”
His expression doesn’t change and he keeps his eyes locked on mine. “It was my first week back at school since Les died,” he says. “She went to school there, too, so everyone knew what happened. I overheard the guy saying something about Les when I was passing him in the hallway. I disagreed with it, and I let him know. I took it too far and it came to a point when I was on top of him that I just didn’t care. I was hitting him, over and over, and I didn’t even care. The really f*cked up part is that the kid will more than likely be deaf out of his left ear for the rest of his life, and I still don’t care.”
He’s staring at me, but not really looking at me. It’s the hard, cold look that I’ve seen in his eyes before. I didn’t like it then and I don’t like it now…but at least now I can understand it more.
“What did he say about her?”
He slumps back in his chair and drops his eyes to an empty spot on the table between us. “I heard him laughing, telling his friend that Les took the selfish, easy way out. He said if she wasn’t such a coward, she would have toughed it out.”
“Toughed what out?”
He shrugs. “Life,” he says indifferently.
“You don’t think she took the easy way out,” I say, dropping the end of the sentence as more of a statement than a question.
Holder leans forward and reaches across the table, taking my hand into both of his. He runs his thumbs across my palm and takes in a deep breath, then carefully releases it. “Les was the bravest f*cking person I’ve ever known. It takes a lot of guts to do what she did. To just end it, not knowing what’s next? Not knowing if there’s anything next? It’s easier to go on living a life without any life left in it, than it is to just say ‘f*ck it’ and leave. She was one of the few that just said, ‘f*ck it.’ And I’ll commend her every day I’m still alive, too scared to do the same thing.”
He stills my hand between his, and it isn’t until he does this that I realize I’m shaking. I look up at him and he’s staring back at me. There are absolutely no words that can follow that up, so I don’t even try. He stands up and leans over the table, then slides his hand behind my neck. He kisses me on top of the head, then releases his hold and walks to the kitchen. “You want brownies or cookies?” he asks over his shoulder, as if he didn’t just absolutely stun me into silence.
He looks back at me and I’m still staring at him in shock. I don’t even know what to say. Did he just admit that he’s suicidal? Was he being metaphorical? Melodramatic? I have no idea what to do with the bomb he just placed in my lap.
He brings a plate of both cookies and brownies back to the table, then kneels down in front of me.
“Hey,” he says soothingly, taking my face in his hands. His expression is serene. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not suicidal if that’s what’s freaking you out. I’m not f*cked up in the head. I’m not deranged. I’m not suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m just a brother who loved his sister more than life itself, so I get a little intense when I think about her. And if I cope better by telling myself that what she did was noble, even though it wasn’t, then that’s all I’m doing. I’m just coping.” He’s got a tight grip on my face and he’s looking at me desperately, wanting me to understand where he’s coming from. “I f*cking loved that girl, Sky. I need to believe that what she did was the only answer she had left, because if I don’t, then I’ll never forgive myself for not helping her find a different one.” He presses his forehead to mine. “Okay?”
I nod, then pull his hands from my face. I can’t let him see me do this. “I need to use the bathroom.” He backs up and I rush to the bathroom and shut the door behind me, then I do something I haven’t done since I was five. I cry.
I don’t ugly cry. I don’t sob and I don’t even make a noise. A single tear falls down my cheek and it’s one tear too many, so I quickly wipe it away. I take a tissue and wipe at my eyes in an attempt to stop any other tears from forming.
I still don’t know what to say to him, but I feel like he put a pretty tight lid on the subject, so I decide to let it go for now. I shake out my hands and take a deep breath, then open the door. He’s standing across the hallway with his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands hanging loosely in his pockets. He straightens up and takes a step closer to me.
“We good?” he asks.
I smile my best smile and nod, then take a deep breath. “I told you I think you’re intense. This just proves my point.”
He smiles and nudges me toward the bedroom. He wraps his arms around me from behind and rests his chin on top of my head while we make our way toward my room. “Are you allowed to get pregnant yet?”
I laugh. “Nope. Not this weekend. Besides, you have to kiss a girl before you can knock her up.”
“Did someone not have sex education when she was homeschooled?” he says. “Because I could totally knock you up without ever kissing you. Want me to show you?”
I hop on the bed and grab the book, opening it up to where we left off last night. “I’ll take your word for it. Besides, I’m hoping we’re about to get a hefty dose of sex education before we make it to the last page.”
Holder drops down on the bed and I lay beside him. He puts his arm around me and pulls me toward him, so I rest my head on his chest and begin reading.
I know he’s not doing it on purpose, but the entire time I’m reading I’m completely distracted by him. He’s looking down at me, watching my mouth as I read, twirling my hair between his fingertips. Every time I flip a page, I glance up at him and he’s got the same concentrated expression on his face each time. An expression so concentrated on my mouth, it tells me he’s not paying a damn bit of attention to a single word I’m reading. I close the book and bring it to my stomach. I don’t even think he notices I closed the book.
“Why’d you stop talking?” he says, never changing his expression or pulling his gaze from my mouth.
“Talking?” I ask curiously. “Holder, I’m reading. There’s a difference. And from the looks of it, you haven’t been paying a lick of attention.”
He looks me in the eyes and grins. “Oh, I’ve been paying attention,” he says. “To your mouth. Maybe not to the words coming out of it, but definitely to your mouth.”
He scoots me off of his chest and onto my back, then he slides down beside me and pulls me against him. Still, his expression hasn’t changed and he’s staring at me like he wants to eat me. I sort of wish he would.
He brings his fingers up to my lips and begins tracing them, slowly. It feels so incredible, I’m too scared to breathe for fear he might stop. I swear it’s as though his fingers have a direct line to every sensitive spot on my entire body.
“You have a nice mouth,” he says. “I can’t stop looking at it.”
“You should taste it. It’s quite lovely.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and groans, then leans in and presses his head into my neck. “Stop it, you evil wench.”
I laugh and shake my head. “No way. This is your stupid rule, why should I be the one to enforce it?”
“Because, you know I’m right. I can’t kiss you tonight because kissing leads to the next thing, which leads to the next thing, and at the rate we’re going we’ll be all out of firsts by next weekend. Don’t you want to drag our firsts out a little longer?” He pulls his head away from my neck and looks back down at me.
“Firsts?” I ask. “How many firsts are there?”
“There aren’t that many, which is why we need to drag them out. We’ve already passed too many since we met.”
I tilt my head sideways so I can look him straight on. “What firsts have we already passed?”
“The easy ones. First hug, first date, first fight, first time we slept together, although I wasn’t the one sleeping. Now we barely have any left. First kiss. First time to sleep together when we’re both actually awake. First marriage. First kid. We’re done after that. Our lives will become mundane and boring and I’ll have to divorce you and marry a wife who’s twenty years younger than me so I can have a lot more firsts and you’ll be stuck raising the kids.” He cups my cheek in his hand and smiles at me. “So you see, babe? I’m only doing this for your benefit. The longer I wait to kiss you, the longer it’ll be before I’m forced to leave you high and dry.”
I laugh. “Your logic terrifies me. I sort of don’t find you attractive anymore.”
He slides on top of me, holding up his weight on his hands. “You sort of don’t find me attractive? That can also mean you sort of do find me attractive.”
I shake my head. “I don’t find you attractive at all. You repulse me. In fact, you better not kiss me because I’m pretty sure I just threw up in my mouth.”
He laughs, then drops his weight onto one arm, still hovering over me. He lowers his mouth to the side of my head and presses his lips to my ear. “You’re a liar,” he whispers. “You’re a whole lot attracted to me and I’m about to prove it.”
I close my eyes and gasp the second his lips meet my neck. He kisses me lightly, right below the ear, and it feels like the whole room just turned into a tilt-a-whirl. He slowly moves his lips back to my ear and whispers, “Did you feel that?”
I shake my head no, but barely.
“You want me to do it again?”
I’m shaking my head no out of stubbornness, but I’m hoping he’s telepathic and can hear what I’m really screaming inside my head, because hell yes, I liked it. Hell yes, I want him to do it again.
He laughs when I shake my head no, so he brings his lips closer to my mouth. He kisses me on the cheek, then continues trailing soft pecks down to my ear, where he stops and whispers again. “How about that?”
Oh, God, I’ve never been so not bored in my life. He’s not even kissing me and it’s already the best kiss I’ve ever had. I shake my head again and keep my eyes closed, because I like not knowing what’s coming next. Like the hand that just planted itself on my outer thigh and is working its way up to my waist. He slides his hand under my t-shirt until his fingers barely graze the edge of my pants, and he leaves his hand there, slowly moving his thumb back and forth across my stomach. I’m so acutely aware of everything about him in this moment that I’m almost positive I could pick his thumbprint out of a lineup.
He runs his nose along my jawline and the fact that he’s breathing just as heavily as I am assures me there’s no way he can wait until after tonight to kiss me. At least that’s what I’m desperately hoping.
When he reaches my ear again, he doesn’t speak this time. Instead, he kisses it and there isn’t a nerve ending in my body that doesn’t feel it. From my head all the way down to my toes, my entire body is screaming for his mouth.
I place my hand on his neck and when I do, chills break out on his skin. Apparently, that one simple move momentarily melts his resolve and for a second, his tongue meets my neck. I moan and the sound completely sends him into a frenzy.
He moves his hand from my waist to the side of my head and he pulls my neck against his mouth, holding nothing back. I open my eyes, shocked at how quickly his demeanor changed. He kisses and licks and teases every inch of my neck, only gasping for air when it’s absolutely necessary. As soon as I see the stars above my head, there isn’t even enough time to count one of them before my eyes roll back in my head and I’m holding back sounds that I’m too embarrassed to utter.
He moves his lips further from my neck and closer to my chest. If we didn’t have such a limited supply of firsts, I’d tear my shirt off and make him keep going. Instead, he doesn’t even give me this option. He kisses his way back up my neck, up my chin, and trails soft kisses around my entire mouth, careful not to once touch my lips. My eyes are closed, but I can feel his breath against my mouth, and I know he’s struggling not to kiss me. I open my eyes and look at him and he’s staring at my lips again.
“They’re so perfect,” he says, breathlessly. “Like hearts. I could literally stare at your lips for days and never get bored.”
“No. Don’t do that. If all you do is stare, then I’ll be the bored one.”
He grimaces, and it’s obvious that he’s having a really, really hard time not kissing me. I don’t know what it is about him staring at my lips like he is, but it’s definitely the hottest thing about this whole situation right now. I do something I probably shouldn’t do. I lick them. Slowly.
He groans again and presses his forehead against mine. His arm gives way beneath him and he drops his weight on me, pressing himself against me. Everywhere. All of him. We moan simultaneously once our bodies find that perfect connection, and suddenly it’s game on. I’m tearing off his shirt and he’s on his knees, helping me pull it over his head. After it’s completely off, I wrap my legs around his waist and lock him against me, because there could be nothing more detrimental than if he were to pull away right now.
He brings his forehead back to mine and our bodies reunite and fuse together like the last two pieces of a puzzle. He’s slowly rocking against me and every time he does it, his lips come closer and closer, until they brush lightly against mine. He doesn’t close the gap between our mouths, even though I absolutely need him to. Our lips are simply resting together, not kissing. Every time he moves against me, he lets out a breath that seeps into my mouth and I try to take them all in, because it feels like I need them if I want to survive this moment.
We remain in this rhythm for several minutes, neither of us wanting to be the first to initiate the kiss. It’s obvious we both want to, but it’s also obvious that I may have just met my match when it comes to stubbornness.
He holds the side of my head in place and keeps his forehead pressed against mine, but pulls his lips back far enough so he can lick them. When he lets them fall back into place, the wetness of his lips sliding against mine drags me completely under, and I doubt I’ll ever be able to come up for air.
He shifts his weight, and I don’t know what happens when he does this, but somehow it causes my head to roll back and the words, “Oh, God,” to come out of my mouth. I didn’t mean to pull away from his mouth when I tilted my head back, because I really liked it being there, but I like where I’m going even more. I wrap my arms around his back and tuck my head against his neck for some semblance of stability, because it feels like the entire earth has been shifted off its axis and Holder is the core.
I realize what’s about to happen and I begin to internally panic. Other than his shirt, we’re completely clothed, not even kissing…yet the room is beginning to spin from the affect his rhythmic movements are having on my body. If he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, I’ll fall apart and melt right here beneath him, and that would quite possibly mark the most embarrassing moment of my life. But if I ask him to stop, then he’ll stop, and that would quite possibly mark the most disappointing moment of my life.
I try to calm my breaths and minimize the sounds escaping my lips, but I’ve lost any form of self-control. It’s obvious my body is enjoying this non-kissing friction a little too much and I can’t find it in me to stop. I’ll try the next best thing. I’ll ask him to stop.
“Holder,” I say breathlessly, not really wanting him to stop, but hoping he’ll get the hint and stop anyway. I need him to stop. Like two minutes ago.
He doesn’t. He continues kissing my neck and moving his body against mine in a way that boys have done to me before, but this time it’s different. It’s so incredibly different and wonderful and it absolutely petrifies me.
“Holder.” I attempt to say his name louder, but there isn’t enough effort left in my body.
He kisses the side of my head and slows down, but he doesn’t stop. “Sky, if you’re asking me to stop, I will. But I’m hoping you’re not, because I really don’t want to stop, so please.” He pulls back and looks down into my eyes, still barely moving his body against mine. His eyes are full of ache and worry and he’s breathless when he speaks. “We won’t go any further than this, I promise. But please don’t ask me to stop where we already are. I need to watch you and I need to hear you because the fact that I know you’re actually feeling this right now is so f*cking amazing. You feel incredible and this feels incredible and please. Just…please.”
He lowers his mouth to mine and gives me the softest peck imaginable. It’s enough of a preview of what his real kiss will feel like and just the thought of it makes me shudder. He stops moving against me and pushes himself up on his hands, waiting for me to decide.
The moment he separates from me, my chest grows heavy with disappointment and I almost feel like crying. Not because he stopped or because I’m torn about what to do next…but because I never imagined that two people could connect on this sort of intimate level, and that it could feel so overwhelmingly right. Like the purpose of the entire human race centers around this moment; around the two of us. Everything that’s ever happened or will happen in this world is simply just a backdrop for what’s occurring between us right now, and I don’t want it to stop. I don’t. I’m shaking my head, looking into his pleading eyes, and all I can do is whisper, “Don’t. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”
He slides his hand behind my neck and lowers his head, pressing his forehead to mine. “Thank you,” he breathes, gently easing himself onto me again, recreating the connection between us. He kisses the edges of my mouth several times, trailing close to my lips and down my chin and across my neck. The faster he breathes, the faster I breathe. The faster I breathe, the faster he plants kisses all over my neck. The faster he plants kisses all over my neck, the faster we move together—creating a tantalizing rhythm between us that, according to my pulse, isn’t going to last much longer.
I dig my heels into the bed and my nails into his back. He stops kissing my neck and looks down at me with heated eyes, watching me. He focuses on my mouth again, and as much as I want to watch him stare at me like he does, I can’t keep my eyes open. They close involuntarily as soon as the first wave of chills wash over my body like a warning shot of what’s about to come.
“Open your eyes,” he says firmly.
I would if I could, but I’m completely helpless.
“Please.”
That one word is all I need to hear and my eyes flick open beneath him. He’s staring down at me with such an intense need, it’s almost more intimate than if he were actually kissing me right now. As hard as it is to do in this moment, I keep my eyes locked on his as I drop my arms, clench the sheets with both fists and thank Karma for bringing this hopeless boy into my life. Because until this moment—until the first waves of pure and utter enlightenment wash over me—I had no idea that he was even missing.
I begin to shudder beneath him and he never once breaks our stare. I can no longer keep my eyes open no matter how hard I try, so I let them fall shut. I feel his lips slide delicately back to mine, but he still doesn’t kiss me. Our mouths are stubbornly resting together as he holds his rhythm, allowing the last of my moans and a rush of my breaths and maybe even part of my heart to slip out of me and into him. I slowly and blissfully slide back down to earth and he eventually holds still, allowing me to recover from an experience that he somehow made not at all embarrassing for me.
When I’m completely spent and emotionally drained and my whole body is shaking, he continues to kiss my neck and shoulders and everywhere else in the vicinity of the one place I want kissed the most—my mouth.
But he would obviously rather hold his resolve than give in to his stubbornness, because he pulls his lips from my shoulder and brings his face closer to mine, but still refuses to make the connection. He reaches up and runs his hand along my hairline, smoothing away a stray strand from my forehead.
“You’re incredible,” he whispers, looking only at my eyes this time and not at all at my mouth. His words make up for his stubbornness and I can’t help but smile back. He collapses to the bed beside me, still panting, while he makes a cognizant effort to contain the desire that I know is still coursing through him.
I close my eyes and listen to the silence that builds between us as our gasps for breath subside into soft, gentle rhythms. It’s quiet and calm and quite possibly the most peaceful moment my mind has ever experienced.
Holder moves his hand closer to me on the bed between us and he wraps his pinky around mine as if he doesn’t have the strength to hold my entire hand. But it’s nice, because we’ve held hands before, but never pinkies…and I realize that this is another first we passed. And realizing this doesn’t disappoint me, because I know that firsts don’t matter with him. He could kiss me for the first time, or the twentieth time, or the millionth time and I wouldn’t care if it was a first or not, because I’m pretty sure we just broke the record for the best first kiss in the history of first kisses—without even kissing.
After a long stretch of perfect silence, he takes a deep breath, then sits up on the bed and looks down at me. “I have to go. I can’t be on this bed with you for another second.”
I tilt my head toward his and look at him dejectedly as he stands up and pulls his shirt back on. He grins at me when he sees me pouting, then he bends forward until his face is hovering over mine, dangerously close. “When I said you weren’t getting kissed tonight, I meant it. But dammit, Sky. I had no idea how f*cking difficult you would make it.” He slips his hand behind my neck and I gasp quietly, willing my heart to remain within the walls of my chest. He kisses my cheek and I can feel his hesitation when he reluctantly pulls away.
He walks backward toward the window, watching me the whole time. Before he slips outside, he pulls his phone out and runs his fingers swiftly over the screen for a few seconds, then slips it back into his pocket. He smiles at me, then climbs out the window and pulls it shut behind him.
I somehow find the strength to jump up and run to the kitchen. I grab my phone and, sure enough, there’s a missed text from him. It’s only one word, though.
Incredible.
I smile, because it was. It absolutely was.
Wednesday, June 23rd, 1999 3:55 p.m.
“Hey.”
I keep my head buried in my arms. I don’t want him to see me crying again. I know he won’t laugh at me—neither of them would ever laugh at me. But I really don’t even know why I’m crying and I wish it would just stop but it won’t and I can’t and I hate it, hate it, hate it.
He sits down in the sidewalk next to me and she sits down on the other side of me. I still don’t look up and I’m still sad, but I don’t want them to leave because it feels nice with them here.
“This might make you feel better,” she says. “I made us both one at school today.” She doesn’t ask me to look up so I don’t, but I can feel her put something on my knee.
I don’t move. I don’t like getting presents and I don’t want her to see me look at it.
I keep my head down and keep crying and wish that I knew what was wrong with me. Something’s wrong with me or I wouldn’t feel like this every time it happens. Because it’s supposed to happen. That’s what Daddy tells me, anyway. It’s supposed to happen and I have to stop crying because it makes him so, so sad when I cry.
They sit by me for a long, long time but I don’t know how long because I don’t know if hours are longer than minutes. He leans over and whispers in my ear. “Don’t forget what I told you. Remember what you need to do when you’re sad?”
I nod into my arm, but I don’t look up at him. I have been doing what he said I should do when I get sad, but sometimes I’m still sad, anyway.
They stay for a few more hours or minutes, but then she stands up. I wish they would stay for one more minute or two more hours. They never ask me what’s wrong and that’s why I like them so much and wish they would stay.
I lift my elbow and peek out from underneath it and see her feet walking away from me. I grab her present off my knee and run it through my fingers. She made me a bracelet. It’s stretchy and purple and has half of a heart on it. I slide it on my wrist and smile, even though I’m still crying. I lift up my head and he’s still here, looking at me. He looks sad and I feel bad because I feel like I’m making him sad.
He stands up and faces my house. He looks at it for a long time without saying anything. He always thinks a lot and it makes me wonder what he’s always thinking about. He stops looking at the house and looks back down at me. “Don’t worry,” he says, trying to smile for me. “He won’t live forever.” He turns around and walks back to his house, so I close my eyes and lay my head on my arms again.
I don’t know why he would say that. I don’t want my Daddy to die…I just want him to stop calling me Princess.
Monday, September 3rd, 2012 7:20 a.m.
I don’t pull it out very often, but for some reason I want to look at it today. I guess talking about the past with Holder Saturday has left me feeling a little nostalgic. I know I told Holder I’d never look for my father, but sometimes I’m still curious. I can’t help but wonder how a parent can raise a child for several years, then just give them away. I’ll never understand it, and maybe I don’t need to. That’s why I never push it. I never ask Karen questions. I never try to separate the memories from the dreams and I don’t like bringing it up…because I just don’t need to.
I take the bracelet out of the box and slide it onto my wrist. I don’t know who gave it to me, and I don’t even really care. I’m sure with two years in foster care, I received lots of things from friends. What’s different about this gift, though, is that it’s attached to the only memory I have of that life. The bracelet validates that my memory is a real one. And knowing that the memory is real somehow validates that I was someone else before I was me. A girl I don’t remember. A girl that cried a lot. A girl that isn’t anything like who I am today.
Someday I’ll throw the bracelet away because I need to. But today, I just feel like wearing it.
Holder and I decided to take a breather from each other yesterday. And I say breather, because after Saturday night, we went quite a while on my bed without breathing at all. Besides, Karen was coming home and the last thing I wanted to do was re-introduce her to my new…whatever he is. We never got far enough to label what’s going on between us. It feels like I haven’t known him near long enough to refer to him as my boyfriend, considering we haven’t even kissed yet. But dammit if it doesn’t piss me off to think of his lips being on anyone else. So whether or not we’re dating, I’m declaring us exclusive. Can you even be exclusive without actually kissing first? Are exclusive and dating mutually exclusive?
I make myself laugh out loud. Or lol.
When I woke up yesterday morning, I had two texts. I’m really getting into this whole texting thing. I get really giddy when I have one and I can’t imagine how addictive email and Facebook and everything else technology-related must be. One of the texts was from Six, going on and on about my impeccable baking abilities, followed up with strict instructions to call her Sunday night from her house phone to catch her up on everything. I did. We talked for an hour and she’s just as floored as I am that Holder isn’t at all how we expected him to be. I asked her about Lorenzo and she didn’t even know who I was referring to, so I laughed and dropped it. I miss her and hate that she’s gone, but she’s loving it and that makes me happy.
The second text I had was from Holder. All it said was, “I’m dreading seeing you at school on Monday. So bad.”
Running used to be the highlight of my day, but now it’s receiving insulting texts from Holder. And speaking of running and Holder, we aren’t doing that anymore. Together, anyway. After texting back and forth yesterday, we decided it was probably best if we didn’t run together on a daily basis because that might be too much, too soon. I told him I didn’t want things to get weird between us. Besides, I’m really self-conscious when I’m sweaty and snotty and wheezing and smelly and I would just rather run alone.
Now I’m staring into my locker in a daze, sort of stalling because I really don’t want to go to class. It’s first period and the only class I have with Holder, so I’m really nervous about how it’ll play out. I take Breckin’s book out of my backpack and the other two books I brought him, then put the rest of my things in my locker. I walk into the classroom and to my seat, but Breckin isn’t here yet, and neither is Holder. I sit down and stare at the door, not really sure why I’m so nervous. It’s just different, seeing him here rather than on home turf. Public school is just way too…public.
The door opens and Holder walks in, followed closely by Breckin. They both start toward the back of the room. Holder smiles at me, walking down one aisle. Breckin smiles at me, walking down the other aisle, holding two cups of coffee. Holder reaches the seat next to me and starts to lay his backpack on it at the same time Breckin reaches it and begins to set the coffee cups down. They look up at each other, then they both look back at me.
Awkward.
I do the only thing I know how to do in awkward situations—infuse with sarcasm.
“Looks like we have quite the predicament here, boys.” I smile at both of them, then eye the coffee in Breckin’s hands. “I see the Mormon brought the queen her offering of coffee. Very impressive.” I look at Holder and cock my eyebrow. “Do you wish to reveal your offering, hopeless boy, so that I may decide who shall accompany me at the classroom throne today?”
Breckin looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. Holder laughs and picks his backpack up off the desk. “Looks like someone’s in need of an ego-shattering text today.” He moves his backpack to the empty seat in front of Breckin and claims his spot.
Breckin is still standing, holding both coffees with an incredibly confused look on his face. I reach out and grab one of the cups. “Congratulations, squire. You are the queen’s chosen one today. Sit. It’s been quite the weekend.”
Breckin slowly takes his seat and sets his coffee on his desk, then pulls his backpack off his shoulder, eyeing me suspiciously the whole time. Holder is seated sideways in his desk, staring at me. I gesture my hand toward Holder. “Breckin, this is Holder. Holder is not my boyfriend, but if I catch him trying to break the record for best first kiss with another girl, then he’ll soon be my not breathing non-boyfriend.”
Holder arches an eyebrow at me and a hint of a smile plays in the corner of his mouth. “Likewise.” His dimples are taunting me and I have to force myself to look directly into his eyes or I might be compelled to do something that would be grounds for suspension.
I gesture a hand toward Breckin. “Holder, this is Breckin. Breckin is my new very bestest friend ever in the whole wide world.”
Breckin eyes Holder and Holder smiles at him, then reaches out to shake his hand. Breckin tentatively shakes Holder’s hand in return, then pulls it back and turns to me, narrowing his eyes. “Does not-your-boyfriend realize I’m Mormon?”
I nod. “It turns out, Holder doesn’t have an issue with Mormons at all. He just has an issue with a*sholes.”
Breckin laughs and turns back to Holder. “Well, in that case, welcome to the alliance.”
Holder gives him a half smile, but he’s staring at the coffee cup on Breckin’s desk. “I thought Mormon’s weren’t allowed to have caffeine.”
Breckin shrugs. “I decided to break that rule the morning I woke up gay.”
Holder laughs and Breckin smiles and everything is right with the world. Or at least in the world of first period. I lean back in my chair and smile. This won’t be hard at all. In fact, I think I just started loving public school.
Holder follows me to my locker after class. We don’t speak. I switch my books while he rips more insults off my locker. There were only two sticky notes after class today, which makes me a little sad. They’re giving up so easily and it’s only the second week of school.
He wads the notes up and flicks them on the floor and I shut my locker, then turn toward him. We’re both leaning against the lockers, facing each other.
“You trimmed your hair,” I say, noticing it for the first time.
He runs his hand through it and grins. “Yeah. This chick I know couldn’t stop whining about it. It was really annoying.”
“I like it.”
He smiles. “Good.”
I purse my lips together and rock back and forth on my heels. He’s grinning at me and he looks adorable. If we weren’t in a hallway right now full of people, I’d grab his shirt and pull him to me so I could show him just how adorable I think he looks. Instead, I push the images away and smile back at him. “I guess we should get to class.”
He nods slowly. “Yep,” he says, without walking away.
We stand there for another thirty seconds or so before I laugh and kick off the locker, then start to walk away. He grabs my arm and pulls me back so quickly, I gasp. Before I know it, my back is against the locker and he’s standing in front of me, blocking me in with his arms. He shoots me a devilish grin, then tilts my face up to his. He brings his right hand to my cheek and slides it under my jaw, cupping my face. He delicately strokes both of my lips with his thumb and I have to remind myself again that we’re in public and I can’t act on my impulses right now. I press myself against the lockers behind me, trying to use the sturdiness of them to make up for the support my knees are no longer providing.
“I wish I would have kissed you Saturday night,” he says. He drops his eyes to my lips where his thumb is still stroking them. “I can’t stop imagining what you taste like.” He presses his thumb firmly against the center of my lips, then very briefly connects his mouth to mine without moving his thumb out of the way. His lips are gone and his thumb is gone and it happens so fast, I don’t even realize he’s gone until the hallway stops spinning and I’m able to stand up straight.
I don’t know how much longer I can take this. I’m reminded of my nervous rant on Saturday night, when I wanted him to just get it over with and kiss me in the kitchen. I had absolutely no idea what I would be in for.
“How?”