Now his hand rests solidly on my shoulder. “If you’re asking me for a list of reasons, I can give you that. You’re beautiful and sweet and feisty. You’re intriguing and funny and quirky. You are a powerful force, and one I find myself remarkably drawn to. Not to mention, by the way, that you’re the best damn kisser ever. Like, ever. But the simple truth is that . . .” Esben squirms in his seat in what I see as needless insecurity. “Can’t I just like you without explanation? Just because I do?”
I’m dumbfounded. I let what he’s said—what he apparently feels—sink in. He’s handed me a certain freedom, which makes me feel so shockingly happy that I allow myself to give a truly flirtatious look. “So, the kiss was that good for you?”
Esben moves his hand beneath my hair, gently rubbing the nape of my neck. He speaks slowly. “The kiss was that good for me. No question.”
“Well,” I say as I reach for my coffee, “that’s something I like hearing. And it definitely makes skipping my second class today worth it.”
“I’ll take it, very happily.” Esben takes his mug and clinks it against mine.
When we leave, we walk to the car with our shoulders touching. He blasts music in the car, because we have spoken enough words for today, and we are both overtaken with a euphoria that leaves no room for anything else. After he parks, I go to the back passenger door to retrieve my bag. On the floor of the car, a paper bag has spilled open.
At least a hundred motivational buttons cover the floor.
A measure of exhilaration and wonder surges through me that I hope never leaves.
CHAPTER 14
WANTED
That night, I try to FaceTime Steffi, because I want her to see how flushed and idiotically glowy I am, but she doesn’t pick up. Instead, she phones me right back. “Sorry. I look gnarly and am not subjecting you to my greasy hair and the bags under my eyes. It’s as though I just flew back and forth across the country within a few days. Oh, wait. I did!”
“Then I am very grateful for your discretion.” I throw the phone on speaker and check myself in the mirror while we talk. While I don’t usually spend a lot of time examining myself, today is different. Today, I want to see myself happy. “How are you, eye bags and all aside? What do you have going on this week? Oh, and you never did tell me anything about that internship—”
“Ugh, that’s boring. Who cares? I need to hear what’s up with you. You’re the one with the dramatically fun life.” She does indeed sound exhausted, but I know she’s trying to perk up for me.
“Um . . . will you walk me through how to curl my hair the way you did the other night? The night I went to Esben’s room.”
There’s silence for a moment. Then I can hear the satisfaction in her voice as she understands what I’m really telling her. “You were brave, weren’t you? Esben liked your hair, and then you were brave! You took a chance, and it paid off.”
She begins hurling questions at me, and, because she insists, I walk her through my day, leaving out nothing. By the time we hang up, Steffi knows enough details that even she has run out of things to ask.
Then on Tuesday night, I am in the midst of studying when there is a knock on my door. “Hey, you. Can I come in?”
Esben is wearing a dark-green shirt under his leather jacket. He is all the colors of some magical forest that I want to get lost in. “Hi.” I step back and try not to look as mesmerized as I feel.
“I’m on my way to go meet Kerry, and I’m already late, so I have, like, two minutes. She wants to show me what she’s been working on in her painting class, but I had to come by here first.”
“You did?” Even these two small words are shaky.
He nods. “I missed you today. Is that weird? It is, I guess. But it’s true. I had a really good time yesterday, and today has pretty much whoppingly paled in comparison. So, I came to see you.” Esben rocks on his toes a bit. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah. It is.” It’s so beyond okay that I want to start jumping up and down like a lunatic. Instead, I do something else that I really want to do. With less awkwardness than I would have anticipated, I step in and put my arms under his jacket and around his waist. I cannot believe that I’m doing this, and while I am absolutely trembling with nerves and insecurity, I want this intimacy so much.
Esben puts his arms over my shoulders and draws me close. “This is why I came by. This is what I needed.”
I relax into his hold, and when he softly kisses the top of my head, I turn and rest my cheek against his chest. We stand as one for a few minutes, until he gives me a quick squeeze and says, “Damn, I gotta go. I wish I didn’t.”
My hands rub his back briefly. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.”
After he leaves, I inflate the unicorn Simon sent. Maybe it’s because Esben mentioned unicorns yesterday; I don’t know. But I set the pink monstrosity on top of the desk in the spare room.
On Wednesday, Esben sits next to me in psych class. His arm touches mine the entire time, and I take in probably 10 percent of the professor’s lecture. He walks me to my next class, as though we’re in some old-fashioned era and he’s courting me. I could die over the sweetness and respect of this. We stand outside my classroom, only inches apart, and I’m too giddy to look up at him, so I busy myself, fussing with the zipper on his jacket.
He whispers in my ear, “So, can I get your cell number?”
“Yes,” I say too breathily.
On Thursday evening, Esben blows up my phone with texts.
He sends a selfie he took wearing a shocking neon-orange bulky-knit sweater his mother just sent him. He’s making an exaggerated frightened face. WTF? he texts. My mother has gone insane.
After that, he sends a picture of Chewbacca with the note: Because . . . Chewbacca.
Then a joke about a cow and a pretzel that I don’t understand, and before I can reply, he writes, Yeah, I don’t get it either. Some dude keeps posting it on my FB wall with a million LOLs. Help me! Help me!
Later, he sends a list of three important things he thinks I should know about him: 1. I often wear mismatched socks. 2. I loathe corn on the cob. I know I’m probably the only person in the world who does. So, I turn the ears on their ends and cut off the kernels, which always makes a huge mess, because they just fly all over the place, and only a few land on my plate. 3. I think you’re incredible, and I’d love to run over to your room right now and tell you that in person and hug you and listen to the sound of your breathing, but I don’t want you to get freaked.
I stare at number three and smile. Then I take a screenshot of it, because I want to keep this text forever.
I reply. 1. It’s an interesting fashion choice. Maybe I could teach you how to do laundry. 2. Corn on the cob is annoying, and I support you 100 percent in this. We can research some sort of dome under which one cuts the corn and thereby contains the kernels. 3. I’m not freaked.
Then I think better of it and text him again. Okay, I’m trying not to be freaked.