He runs a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know what Kirstyn said to you, but she’s an idiot. Don’t listen to her.”
I take a sip of my coffee, the keys in my hand jingling every time I tip the cup. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” he growls. “Has she been harassing you like this the whole time?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter. This is about me, not you. She needs to leave you the hell alone.”
“She wants you back. I get it. She thinks I’m a threat somehow. Which is totally ridiculous.”
“Is it?” He lowers his head and again runs his hand through his hair.
He wants me to be a threat?
“Well, yeah. Right?” I ask, tipping my coffee to take another sip. I want to live in this cardboard cup forever just to get away from this conversation.
He slides near me. Everything in me is heightened. My breath sounds like a storm, my heartbeats sound like a million drums. He cradles my face in his hands. I take a breath in and drop the cup on the grass, the coffee sloshing onto my shoes.
He leans down, inching closer, closer, and stops just before our lips touch. “You are a threat. A big one,” he says, then takes a breath and there’s desire in his eyes, they’re asking permission, they’re hoping that I feel the same way as him. Shocked and confused, but filled with something strong, I give him an almost imperceptible nod, then his lips are on mine.
I keep my eyes open and stare at his closed eyelids. He tastes like hot chocolate. He deepens the kiss and I close my eyes without will. His lips are soft and gentle with me. His tongue touches mine and I wince. He stiffens for a second, then separates us. His smile is so genuine, so sincere. We don’t say anything. He looks like he’s afraid he did something stupid.
That wasn’t so bad. I could probably do that again, but better. I grab his shirt and press my mouth onto his and devour him. I touch his bottom lip to mine and nibble on it, not sure where that motion came from. He does it right back as he makes a soft sound and pulls me closer to him. Our bodies meld together, and I’m lost in desperation and pain and pleasure. He leaves my mouth and slides his lips down to my neck, dotting my skin with tiny kisses.
Then like a beautiful dream turned nightmare, I remember my plan.
Halloween.
I’m trapped. The heat, the searing flames penetrate my skin. I’m on fire.
“No!” I scream, pushing Colter off me. He stumbles back with a surprised face.
“Did I do something wrong?” he says in the most beautiful, pitiful voice I’ve heard.
“No. You? You’re perfect. I’m just fucked in the head.” My voice sounds choked, raspy. I can’t get my words to form right.
He slowly inches back in front of me and leans down to look me in the eyes. “I’m sorry I did that. I just . . . you were looking at me like you wanted to. Please talk to me.”
I shake my head. “We can’t do this.”
He runs his hand down my cheek, cupping my jaw. “God, you’re so stubborn. I wish you’d just let me in.”
“Is that what this is about? Helping me?”
“Not just. I mean at first, maybe. But . . . .”
“Look, you can’t help me. No one can.”
He lowers his head a little and lets his hand drop from my cheek. “Okay.”
Shit.
28
“I keep screwing up with him.”
The grass is cold on my legs as I sit in front of Tate’s grave. The moon is just a slit tonight, like a sideways smile on the Cheshire Cat, mocking me, waiting to pop up to make my life more miserable.
“He kissed me and I pushed him away. He’s a good guy. Perfect, actually. I mean not perfect, but perfect for me and I don’t know what to do, ’cause I’ve made up my mind and I think if I let him in I’m going to regret it, and I don’t want to change my mind.” I take a breath. “What should I do?”
I try to think of what she would tell me if she were here. If she were seven years old and had one year more of experiences and smiles to share. She would ask a question. She always asked too many questions. We talked about it once. What kind of guy I’d end up with.
? ? ?
Tate swings as high as the glider will go, her little legs pumping under the seat. “Do you think Mom and Dad will be together forever?”
My feet drag on the deck to slow us down. “I don’t know. I guess, if they want to be.”
Her face contorts from curiosity to worry before I can blink. “They yell.”
I lift my head toward the black sky. The moon is half full, hiding its other side like it’s ashamed of it. I learned in Astronomy that it’s in a waxing gibbous phase. “Sometimes people who love each other fight.”
That’s such a cop-out, she’ll see right through it.
“Maybe. Do you yell at your boyfriend—wait. Do you even have a boyfriend?” she asks. “’Cause I’ve never seen you with one, but you’re sixteen and Krissy Turner’s sister has a boyfriend and she’s sixteen.”