“Yeah?” I whisper.
“This might be mine.” He smiles and leans in, and I fall once again, hard, into his kiss.
ELEVEN
“So Mark’s party tonight, right?” Luke asks as we pull his black truck into his driveway. “You want me to drive you?”
“I’ll just meet you there. I promised Harper I’d go with her,” I say and squeeze the hand I haven’t let go of since Templeton. The ninety-minute drive home, I’ve studied him, my mind taking snapshots of the way his full lips part and his defined jaw moves as words spill out, one by one. The way his cheeks flush and his dimples crease when I make him laugh; the feel of his warm lips on my hand as he kisses my skin. I collect each moment and file them away.
“I’m glad I came up with you today,” Luke says, turning the car off next to the old basketball hoop, rising tall out of the cracked asphalt.
“Me too,” I answer, rearranging our fingers for a firmer grip. Luke reaches out, tucking a long strand of my dark hair behind my ear, allowing his fingertips to linger and trace the skin beneath my chin, sending shivers up and down my body.
Luke looks down at our entwined fingers and touches the sterling silver bracelet on my wrist. He runs his fingers along the delicate linked chain until he reaches the double heart charm. He holds the dangling hearts in between his thumb and index finger, leaving his warmth and fingerprints on the cool metal.
“Your mom’s bracelet,” Luke says and my eyes widen with surprise. “For good luck, right?”
“How did you know that?” I ask.
“You told me once,” he answers with a smile. “Last year when we were sitting in chemistry. You were nervous about our test and kept playing with your bracelet. I asked you where you got it and you said it was your mom’s. That it brought her good luck growing up and so she gave it to you. And now you always wear it for good luck.”
“You remember that?” I reply, truly astonished he remembered that passing comment so early in our friendship.
“I remember everything,” he says, running his smooth hand across my cheek and through the tangle of my hair before pulling hungrily and sweetly at the back of my neck. I inch closer, savoring the smell of milk and honey on his skin, the way his nose grazes against mine, the hot, syrupy air between us just before our lips touch. The space between us pulses and my heart skips every other beat. As our lips meet, my hands glide along his strong chest and pull at both sides of his sweater. He’s right next to me but it’s not close enough. I taste him and every part of my body buzzes. His fingertips graze against my cheek, float down my neck, and slip into the delicate hollow of my shoulder. I lose all sense of time.
As we kiss, the tight knot anchored to the pit of my stomach begins to melt. My worries and longings and fears dissolve, the pain swimming to the edges of my body until they disappear. In its wake floods a secret hope that’s been lying dormant, untapped and buried, at the center of my chest. I guess that’s what happens when you kiss the only one who really matters. Nothing else does.
Our lips part and our foreheads lean together. Luke is mirroring my smile and I struggle to catch my breath. He leans in and kisses me sweetly one last time, stroking the side of my face before letting me go.
“I’ll see you later?” he says, more a question than a statement. I pop open the door handle and hop onto the asphalt.
“Yup,” I say, exhaling shakily, still recovering from his kiss. “I’ll see you later.”
I close the door and slowly walk across the Weixels’ manicured lawn. My heart fluttering in my chest, I draw in the deepest of breaths, trying to quell the heavy buzz that numbs my arms and legs, for fear I might faint.
My head is deliciously fuzzy, unable to form complete, coherent thoughts. A few words cycle on repeat, round and round in my skull. It happened. It finally happened. Incredible Luke. Impossible me. As I climb the steps of my front porch, I wish I could freeze this moment, when the possibility of us drifts in the air like a hopeful pink balloon.
I put my key in the front door and push it hard, expecting to hear the wail of the alarm, but I don’t. My perked ears hear the clang of coffee cups on the stone island and hushed tones in the kitchen. Crap. They’re home.
I carefully close the door, trying not to alert them of my presence but they’re Black Angels for crying out loud. They hear everything.