“Really?” Jeremy asked, dreams shattered.
“No.” She grinned up at him.
“You know, they warned me about you,” he said, pulling her close.
Touching used to be hard. Impossible, really. Just a fantasy he’d frequently get off on when he was alone at night. Now, here she stood. Alone with him. His girlfriend. And he knew he had all the right in the world to touch her, kiss her, wrap his arms around her, pick her up, toss her in the air, cradle her like a baby, protect her from the cruel world . . . As long as she gave him permission.
“Is this all right?” he asked, lips pressed against the top of her head.
“Is what all right?”
“Me holding you like this.”
She nuzzled his neck. “It’s perfect.”
“Will you tease me forever?” he asked.
“About what?”
“Just anything.”
“I won’t lie. You make it easy,” she said.
“Am I too serious?”
“All the time.”
“Is that boring?”
“No.”
“Do you trust me?”
“Always, Jeremy.”
“Do you love me?”
She pulled away, shocked, staring up at him with wide black eyes. Cave pools.
He didn’t know what to say. Why the hell did he ask her that? Totally inappropriate! More inappropriate than the premature condoms! At least she could tease him about that. But there was no way she could tease her way out of this one. Just feeling love was serious business. Verbalizing it? Sacred.
She took his hands. “What does Hannah like to call you?”
He furrowed his brows.
“A dope?”
He nodded and grinned.
“You must be,” Regan said.
“And why’s that?”
“Because how could you not know?” she asked.
The anger that kept clawing its way to the top of his heart slipped all over again. This time it couldn’t catch the wall halfway down and attempt another ascent. Nope. This time it fell all the way into the abyss and was eaten up by happiness.
“I loved you in sixth grade,” Regan said softly. “I wanted a matching scar like yours. And in seventh grade, I hated you, because I thought you didn’t love me. In eighth grade, I loved you again because I’d given my heart enough time to heal. In ninth grade, I didn’t know you because I dated another boy. In tenth grade I was infatuated with you because I knew you were a better match for me. In eleventh grade, I loved you all over again when I was certain I knew who I wanted. And now?” She paused. “Now, I love you because I know you. I love you because I believe in all your goodness. I love you because of the way you make me feel. I love you because I want to.” She smiled. “And I love you because I’m helpless not to.”
He saw himself surrender. The longer he gazed into her eyes, the clearer the image—a boy, laying down his weapons. A boy, walking away from the fight. A boy, surrendering his mission to the fire. He didn’t need revenge. He needed Regan.
“I love you,” he croaked, then cursed softly.
“Come again?” she asked lightly.
“I love you,” he replied firmly. No crack. No wavering. No doubt.
He bent his head and kissed her cookie crumb lips, tasting the faint sourness of milk that sat too long on her tongue. He didn’t mind, and he trapped her in his arms when she tried to pull away.
“My breath,” she mumbled against his mouth.
“Is perfect,” he replied, kissing her more deeply.
His wired hormones wanted to kiss-walk her to the bed, but his patient side glued his feet to the floor.
Don’t you have a cake to bake? it asked, and he groaned into her mouth.
She doubled her efforts, believing his groan was in response to her unbelievable skills. She pulled on him, encouraging movement toward the bed.
“Not yet,” he said, pulling away.
She grimaced. “I’m too aggressive. I read you wrong. I thought that groan meant—”
“It meant exactly what you thought it meant,” Jeremy reassured her. “I just . . . I think . . .”
“It’s okay,” Regan said.
“I don’t know why we should wait, but we should wait,” he said at last.
She bit her lip. “You think I was asking you for sex?”
“I don’t know. Were you?”
She shook her head. “I just wanted you to lie on top of me.”
He blinked. She waited.
“Really?” he asked.
“Mmhmm.”
“Why?”
“I thought you’d be warm.”
She walked to the side of the bed then dropped to her knees.
“I’m always curious to see what’s going on underneath people’s beds.”
He sat beside her. “Just this,” he said, pulling out a long, narrow bag. He unzipped it and opened the flap.
“Oooo, I like,” Regan replied, running her fingertips over the silky smooth wood.
“Would you believe Roy bought this for me?” Jeremy asked, pulling the snowboard completely out of its protective bag. “Custom made.”
“Just out of the blue?”
“For my birthday,” he said, then instantly regretted his words.
Regan said nothing as she studied the board’s design. Various size Blind Boards symbols decorated one half while the other featured a mountain sunset rich in fiery oranges and stark whites. She traced the sunrays with her index finger.
“When was your birthday?” she asked slowly.
“I don’t know.”
“Try again,” she said patiently.
He hesitated. “Last week.”
She looked at him with sad eyes. “Why would you not tell me, Jeremy? I’m your girlfriend.”
“I don’t like to make a big deal of it. I had no idea Roy was gonna get me this. You know how expensive a board like this is? I was embarrassed!”
“I don’t care if you were embarrassed. I’m your girlfriend, and you should have told me. I feel like an idiot.”
“Regan, please don’t. It’s weird, okay? We’re still . . . new, and I wasn’t just gonna volunteer the fact that I had an upcoming birthday. Like I expected something from you. That’s stupid. And tacky.”
She shrugged.
“And anyway, you already gave me my birthday present,” Jeremy said.
“Yeah? And what’s that?” she said moodily.
“Your words. You told me you loved me.”