“Admit it,” he smirks.
“Nico,” I begin, finding it hard to even say his name. “I could care less who you want to go to some stupid school dance with.”
“Couldn’t care less,” he says quickly. I tilt my head and pinch my brow. “You said you could care less, but really…you mean you couldn’t.”
I jerk my hands away and huff.
“Could you?” he says, his hands back in his pockets, his head tilted, angled so I can’t ignore it.
I push my tongue in my cheek and shake my head, glancing away, but always coming back to his gaze. His stupid, perfect, eyes and face that I want to put my hand on. The damned lock of his hair that falls forward when his head leans forward, his tongue caught in his teeth. His kissable lips that I felt in a dream and watched speak in class. His arrogance. His confidence.
“Gah!” I exhale, shaking my head and focusing on the bricked wall behind him. He stands there with one foot against the wall, his back leaning into it, so comfortable seeing me so uncomfortable.
“You make me so mad!” My eyes slide to his, and his lip ticks higher.
“I knew you were mad at me,” he nods.
I stretch my arms out wide, my eyes wider, and I stare up to the ceiling with another shake of my head.
“Fine!” I shout. “Yes, you got me. I’m mad at you! Can I go do class now, please?”
Nico snickers, and I cross my arms over my chest. He pushes forward from the wall, taking a few steps toward me. On instinct, I take one back, but not far enough from his reach. He reaches for my hand again, and I hug myself tighter, tucking my fingers under each arm for protection. I’m throwing a fit now, but I’m this far in, there really isn’t any way to undo it.
Nico holds my elbows when he’s unable to get to my hands, and realizing how ridiculous I would look spinning out of his hold, I give in and let him. His touch is gentle and warm, and I wish I could just get over myself and take his hands back in mine. But I’m scared. My bottom lip shakes with nerves. Nico’s eyes glance at it, so I pull it into my teeth. I want to hide every weakness from him, but eventually I’ll have to curl up inside myself. I have too many.
“Why are you mad at me, Reagan?”
He says my name, and the word falls from his lips soft and sweet. No judgment, no challenge. My lip falls loose from the hold of my teeth and my eyes flutter shut for a long blink. I open again to find him waiting, still looking at me.
“I don’t know,” I say, with a small shake of my head.
“But you are,” he says, and I nod with the same slight movement, sucking in my bottom lip and breathing through my nose.
“Yeah,” I say, my lip falling away and my eyes only able to look at his cheek.
“Would you still go to that dance with me?” he asks, and my eyes crinkle with the short laugh that escapes me, my face tingling, my arms held hostage in this strange cradle because that’s all I was willing to give him. “Even though you’re mad at me, which…I’m willing to get to the bottom of, will you let me take you to a dance?”
I pause, holding my breath, my mind racing through every aspect of what this means—Izzy, my father, Noah…Nico.
“Yeah,” I say, my eyes trailing back up to meet his.
I’m holding myself tighter than I ever have, my fingers actually digging into my sides, my nails rough against my skin through the fabric of my gray Cornwall sweatshirt. Nico doesn’t flinch once. His eyes stay on mine when I give in, and his expression doesn’t shift from the gentle, sweet one he’s held.
His right hand lets go of my elbow, moving to the few strands of hair resting against my forehead, falling over one eye. Nico takes them with his thumbs, moving them behind my ears, his eyes watching his movement then settling back on mine.
“You’ve worn your hair down ever since I said I liked it,” he says.
I breathe in long and deep, letting myself feel this moment—all of it. I have worn my hair down. I did it hoping he would touch it, but never once actually thinking he would.
“That’s how I knew,” he says, and my forehead crinkles. He smiles on one side, repeating the gesture and moving the long wave of blonde hair from my face again. “That’s how I knew I was more than just some guy you wanted on your dad’s football team.”
My pulse drums against my ribs. I don’t respond. I don’t need to. Nico is right. He’s more than some guy. He’s more than a great story. I swallow under the intensity of his stare, and my lips grow numb in anticipation. I want to be kissed right now, out here in the high school hallway. I want the clichéd moment in my mental scrapbook, and the more breaths I take, the surer I am I’m going to get it.