With us standing this close, Justin towered over me. His chin, if he chose to do so, would tuck perfectly on the top of my head, my nose fitting the center seam of his chest where I imagined his heart racing as fast as my own.
Just like that, I forgot about today’s mission. I forgot about being fine with our secret friendship. And I forgot that right before I came here, I’d chowed down on a thick slice of pizza, heavy on the onions.
Grasping his hips, I gripped the soft cotton of his shirt with my trembling hands. Usually, it was a reminder of my weakness, my body’s lingering failure. Right now, it was a sign of my excitement. “Justin…?”
My voice sounded breathless and Justin’s eyes darkened. I’d read about that phenomenon in my books, imagined what it looked like in real life, but had no real clue. Now I did. And I liked it. A lot. As anticipation, anxiety, and wonder roiled in my gut, only one thought rushed through my head: Is this it?
In the hospital, I’d convinced myself I’d die a kiss-less virgin. Before I got sick, I’d never had a boyfriend, and during my worse days, I imagined I never would. Back then, there was no way I would’ve believed I’d one day be here. In Justin Carter’s bedroom. In his arms. Being stared at like I was beautiful.
A tingling sensation zinged across my scalp as the rough pad of his thumb ghosted across my cheek. He flicked his gaze between my eyes, slowly bent his head, and a swarm of butterflies began the cha-cha in my gut. Yep, this was it.
Clenching my fists, I closed my eyes, waiting for the moment when our lips would touch. The moment that would change me, take my kissing V-card. It never came.
His hands left my skin, cool air rushed in, and I pried my eyes open. Justin watched me, his hands clutching the legal pad and notebook and his expression torn. Over what? Had I done something wrong?
Nodding his head as if he’d come to a decision, he took a step back. He turned his back, placed the notebooks high on top of his bookshelf, and I battled an overwhelming wave of disappointment. Silly girl.
Not wanting him to know how much the near-kiss affected me, I forced a smile. “I’ll read them one day, you know. Every writer deserves an audience.”
Justin didn’t react. Instead, he twisted back around and pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Can I ask…?” He shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight. “I mean, if it won’t upset you or anything… could you tell me about your illness?”
Like a magic pill, any trace of sexual tension in the room evaporated.
GBS, the instant mood killer.
This was why I hadn’t said anything before. Now it was all he saw when he looked at me. Not a girl to flirt with, or ask out, or kiss passionately next to his bookshelf, but someone who was sick once.
“What do you want to know?”
I settled on the edge of his bed with a plop and Justin walked over to his desk across from me. Away from me. He pushed up to sit on the surface and ducked his head, lifting a shoulder as if he were embarrassed.
“I looked it up online,” he admitted to the carpet. “I watched a few videos on YouTube, too. But I guess I wanted to know what your experience was like.” He raised his head. “I can’t imagine what you went through, how terrifying that must have been… but I’d like to know. If you want to tell me.”
It didn’t come across as pity or even mild curiosity. Justin appeared genuinely interested and concerned. Caring. The warmth of that feeling spread through me like wildfire.
Smiling gently, I told him, “I don’t mind talking about it. I mean, I hate it when people hear and assume I’m weak or a charity case, but I don’t mind sharing my experience.”
He scooted back until his back reached the wall, and I blew out a breath, preparing for story time.
“I never really thought about things before I got sick. I took it for granted when I could tell someone how I was feeling, what was wrong. The ability to write a friend a letter or send a text. Heck, to brush my own dang teeth. But those were the things that kept circling my mind in the hospital. How I wished I could do something so simple, you know?”
He nodded, letting me know he was listening, and I shifted to lay belly down on his mattress. I’d been right before; it was soft.
“It started with a weakness in my legs,” I told him. “I thought I’d overdone it riding that day. But by that night, it was so much more than that. My parents took me to the ER, but no one seemed to know what was wrong—other than it looked like I was dying. That’s what Mama kept whispering over and over: That her baby was dying.”
I swallowed past the painful memory lodged in my throat. Those words still haunted me at night.