Seeing her physical reaction to my proximity makes me smile. When I smile and she sees I was purposely teasing her, she narrows her eyes and I laugh.
She pushes against my chest and shoves me back. “You’re such an ass!” she says, walking to the bar.
“I’m sorry, but damn. You’re so blatantly attracted to me, it’s hard not to tease you.” I’m still laughing when I walk back to the stove with the garlic. I pour some into the pan and glance at her. She’s covering her face with her hands from embarrassment and I immediately feel guilty. I don’t want her thinking I’m not into her, because I’m positive I’m into her way more than she’s into me. I guess I haven’t made that very clear to her, though, which is a little unfair.
“Want to know something?” I ask.
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “Probably not.”
“It might make you feel better,” I say.
“I doubt it.”
I look at her and she’s not smiling and I hate it. I meant for this to be lighthearted; I didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. “I might be a little bit attracted to you, too,” I admit, hoping it’ll help her realize that I didn’t mean to embarrass her.
“Just a little bit?” she asks, teasingly.
No. Not just a little bit. A whole helluva lot.
I continue to prepare the food and I’m doing everything I can to get it all started so I can sit and talk with her while it cooks. She just sits silently at the bar, watching me work my way around her kitchen. I love that she’s not modest when it comes to the way she watches me. She stares at me like she doesn’t want to look at anything else and I like it.
“What does lol mean?”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously. You typed it in your text earlier.”
“It means laugh out loud. You use it when you think something is funny.”
“Huh,” she says. “That’s dumb.”
“Yeah, it is pretty dumb. It’s just habit, though, and the abbreviated texts make it a lot faster to type once you get the hang of it. Sort of like OMG and WTF and IDK and . . .”
“Oh, God, stop,” she says quickly. “You speaking in abbreviated text form is really unattractive.”
I wink at her. “I’ll never do it again, then.” I walk to the counter and pull the vegetables out of the sack. I run them under the water and move the cutting board to the bar in front of her. “Do you like chunky or smooth spaghetti sauce,” I ask, placing the tomato in front of me. She’s looking past me, lost in thought. I wait to see if she’ll answer me when she catches back up, but she just keeps staring off into space.
“You okay?” I ask her, waving my hand once in front of her eyes. She finally snaps out of it and looks up at me. “Where’d you go? You checked out for a while there.”
She shakes it off. “I’m fine.”
I don’t like her tone of voice. She doesn’t seem fine.
“Where’d you go, Sky?” I ask her again. I want to know what she was thinking. Or maybe I don’t want to know, because if she was thinking about how she wants me to leave then I hope she continues to pretend she’s fine.
“Promise you won’t laugh?” she asks.
Relief rushes through me because I don’t think she’d ask me that if she was hoping I would leave. But I’m not about to promise her I won’t laugh, so I shake my head in disagreement. “I told you that I’ll only ever be honest with you, so no. I can’t promise I won’t laugh because you’re kind of funny and that’s only setting myself up for failure.”
“Are you always so difficult?”
I grin, but don’t respond. I love it when she gets irritated with me, so I don’t give her a response on purpose.
She straightens up in her chair and says, “Okay, fine.” She inhales a deep breath like she’s preparing for a long speech.
I’m nervous.
“I’m really not any good at this whole dating thing, and I don’t even know if this is a date, but I know that whatever it is, it’s a little more than just two friends hanging out, and knowing that makes me think about later tonight when it’s time for you to leave and whether or not you plan to kiss me and I’m the type of person who hates surprises so I can’t stop feeling awkward about it because I do want you to kiss me and this may be presumptuous of me, but I sort of think you want to kiss me, too, and so I was thinking how much easier it would be if we just went ahead and kissed already so you can go back to cooking dinner and I can stop trying to mentally map out how our night’s about to play out.”
I’m pretty sure it’s too soon to love her, but shit. She’s got to stop doing and saying these unexpected things that make me want to fast-forward whatever’s going on between us. Because I want to kiss her and make love to her and marry her and make her have my babies and I want it all to happen tonight.
But then we’ll be out of firsts, and the firsts are the best part. Good thing I’m patient.
I set the knife down on the cutting board and look her in the eyes. “That,” I say, “was the longest run-on sentence I’ve ever heard.”
She doesn’t like my comment. She huffs and falls back against her seat in a pout.
“Relax.” I laugh. I take a second to finish the sauce and start the pasta and do everything I need to do to get to a point where I can actually talk to her while I’m not trying to cook at the same time. When I finally get the pasta going, I wipe my hands on the dishtowel and place it on the counter. I walk around the bar to where she’s seated.
“Stand up,” I tell her.
She slowly stands up and I place my hands on her shoulders, then look around the room for a good spot to break the news to her that I’m not going to kiss her tonight. As much as I want to and as much as I now know she wants me to, I still want to wait.
And I know I told her I’m not mean, but I never said I wasn’t cruel. And I’m just having too much fun watching her when she’s flustered and I really want to make her flustered again. “Hmm,” I say, still pretending I’m looking for the perfect spot to kiss her. I glance into the kitchen, then take her by the wrists and pull her with me. “I sort of liked the fridge backdrop.” I push her against the fridge and she lets me. She hasn’t stopped watching me intently the whole time and I love it. I lift my arms to the sides of her head and begin to lean in toward her. She closes her eyes.
I keep mine open.
I look at her lips for a moment. Thanks to the peck I stole while she was sleeping last night, I kind of have an idea what they feel like. But now I can’t help but wonder what they taste like. I’m so tempted to lean in a few more inches and see for myself, but I don’t.
I’ve got this.
They’re just lips.
I watch her for a few more seconds until her eyes flick open when I fail to kiss her. Her whole body jumps when she sees how close I am and it makes me laugh.
Why do I enjoy teasing her so much?
“Sky?” I say, looking down at her. “I’m not trying to torture you or anything, but I already made up my mind before I came over here. I’m not kissing you tonight.”
The hope in her expression dwindles almost immediately.
“Why not?” she says. Her eyes are full of rejection and I absolutely hate it, but I’m still not kissing her. But I do want her to know how much I want to kiss her.
I bring my hand up to her face and trace a line down her cheek. The feel of her skin beneath my fingertips is like silk. I keep trailing down her jaw, then her neck. My whole body is tense because I’m not sure if she feels all of this the way I do. I can’t imagine someone like Grayson could be lucky enough to touch her face or taste her mouth and that he wouldn’t care if she was even enjoying it or not.
When my hand reaches her shoulder, I stop and look her in the eyes. “I want to kiss you,” I say. “Believe me, I do.”
So, so bad.
I remove my hand from her shoulder and bring it up to her cheek. She leans into my hand and looks up at me, her eyes full of disappointment. “But
if you really want to, then why don’t you?”
Ugh. I hate that look. If she keeps looking at me like that I’ll lose every shred of willpower I have left. Which isn’t much.
I tilt her face up to mine. “Because,” I whisper. “I’m afraid you won’t feel it.”
The look on her face when I say it is a mixture of realization and regret. She knows I’m referring to her lack of response to other guys and I’m not sure she knows how to respond. She’s silent, but I just want her to argue with me. I want her to tell me how wrong I am. I want her to tell me she already feels like I do, but instead she just nods and covers my hand with hers.
I close my eyes, wishing she had responded any other way. But the fact that she didn’t just proves that not kissing her tonight is exactly what needs to happen. I don’t understand why she’s so closed off, but I’ll wait however long I have to. There’s no way I could walk away from this girl now.
I pull her away from the refrigerator and wrap my arms around her. She slowly returns the embrace by clasping her arms around my waist and conforming to my chest. She willingly leans into me and just feeling her want me to hold her is better than anything I’ve felt this entire year. All she did was hug me back, but little does she know she just knocked a whole lot of life back into me. I press my lips into her hair and inhale. I could stay like this all night.
But the damn oven timer dings, reminding me that I’m cooking her dinner. If it means having to let her go, I’d rather starve. But I promised to cook for her, so I release my hold from around her and take a step back.
The embarrassed and almost heartbroken look on her face is the last thing I expect to see. She drops her gaze down at the floor and I realize that I just disappointed her. A lot. All I’m trying to do is go at a pace that’s best for her. I can’t have her thinking that I’m going slow because it’s my choice. Because if she didn’t have whatever issue it is she has with guys, we wouldn’t be standing in this kitchen right now. We’d be back on her bed just like we were last night, only this time she wouldn’t be reading to me.
I grab both of her hands and interlock our fingers. “Look at me.” She hesitantly lifts her face and looks at me. “Sky, I’m not kissing you tonight but believe me when I tell you, I’ve never wanted to kiss a girl more. So stop thinking I’m not attracted to you because you have no idea just how much I am. You can hold my hand, you can run your fingers through my hair, you can straddle me while I feed you spaghetti, but you are not getting kissed tonight. And probably not tomorrow, either. I need this. I need to know for sure that you’re feeling every single thing that I’m feeling the moment my lips touch yours. Because I want your first kiss to be the best first kiss in the history of first kisses.”
The sadness is gone from her eyes now and she’s actually smiling at me. I lift her hand and kiss it. “Now stop sulking and help me finish the meatballs. Okay?” I ask, wanting reassurance from her that she believes me. “Is that enough to get you through a couple more dates?”
She nods, still smiling. “Yep. But you’re wrong about one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“You said you want my first kiss to be the best first kiss, but this won’t be my first kiss. You know that.”
I don’t know how to break it to her, but she hasn’t been kissed before. Not like she deserves, anyway. I hate that she doesn’t realize this, so I take it upon myself to show her exactly what a real kiss feels like.
I let go of her hands and cup her face, walking her back against the refrigerator. I lean in until I can feel her breath on my lips and she gasps. I love the helpless, hungry look in her eyes right now, but it doesn’t compare to what it does to me when she bites her lip.
“Let me inform you of something,” I say, lowering my voice. “The moment my lips touch yours, it will be your first kiss. Because if you’ve never felt anything when someone’s kissed you, then no one’s ever really kissed you. Not the way I plan on kissing you.”
She exhales a pent-up breath and her arms are covered in chills again.
She felt that.
I grin victoriously and back away from her, then turn my attention to the stove. I can hear her sliding down the refrigerator. I turn around and she’s sitting on the floor, looking up at me in shock. I laugh.
“You okay?” I say with a wink.
She smiles up at me from the floor and pulls her legs up to her chest with a shrug. “My legs stopped working.” She laughs. “Must be because I’m so attracted to you,” she says sarcastically.
I look around the kitchen. “You think your mother has a tincture for people who are too attracted to me?”
“My mother has a tincture for everything,” she says.
I walk over and take her hand, then pull her up. I press my hand against the small of her back and pull her against me. She looks up at me with hooded eyes and a small gasp parts her lips. I lower my mouth to her ear and whisper, “Well, whatever you do . . . make sure you never take that tincture.”
Her chest rises against mine and she’s looking into my eyes like everything I’ve said tonight meant nothing. She wants me to kiss her and she doesn’t care that I’m doing everything in my power not to.
I slide my hand down her back and slap her on the ass. “Focus, girl. We have food to cook.”
• • •
“Okay, I have one,” she says, placing her cup down on the table.
We’re playing a game she suggested called Dinner Quest, where no question is off limits and eating and drinking isn’t allowed until the question has been answered. I’ve never heard of it, but I like the thought of being able to ask her anything I want to ask her.
“Why did you follow me to my car at the grocery store?” she asks.
I shrug. “Like I said, I thought you were someone else.”
“I know,” she says. “But who?”
Maybe I don’t want to play this game. I’m not ready to tell her about Hope. I’m definitely not ready to tell her about Les, but there’s no way around it because my answer just dug me into a hole. I shift in my seat and reach for my drink, but she snatches it out of my hands.
“No drinks. Answer the question first.” She sets my drink back down on the table and waits for my explanation. I really don’t want to go into my screwed up past, so I try to keep my answer simple.
“I wasn’t sure who you reminded me of,” I lie. “You just reminded me of someone. I didn’t realize until later that you reminded me of my sister.”
She makes a face and says, “I remind you of your sister? That’s kind of gross, Holder.”
Oh, shit. That’s not at all what I meant. “No, not like that. Not like that at all, you don’t even look anything like she did. There was just something about seeing you that made me think of her. And I don’t even know why I followed you. It was all so surreal. The whole situation was a little bizarre, and then running into you in front of my house later . . .”
Should I really tell her how that made me feel? How I thought for sure Les had something to do with it or that it was divine intervention or a freaking miracle? Because I honestly feel like it was too perfect to be chalked up to coincidence.
“It was like it was meant to happen,” I finally say.
She inhales a deep breath and I look up at her, afraid of how forward that might have been. She smiles at me and points to my drink. “You can drink now,” she says. “Your turn to ask me a question.”
“Oh, this one’s easy. I want to know whose toes I’m stepping on. I received a mysterious inbox message from someone today. All it said was, ‘If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, jackass.’”
“That would be Six,” she says, smiling. “The bearer of my daily doses of positive affirmation.”
Thank God.
“I was hoping you’d say that. Because I’m pretty competitive, and if it came from a guy, my response would not have been as nice.”
“You responded? What’d you say?”
“Is that your question? Because if it isn’t, I’m taking another bite.”
“Hold your horses and answer the question,” she says.
“Yes, I responded to her text. I said, ‘How do I buy more minutes?’”
Her cheeks redden and she grins. “I was only joking, that wasn’t my question. It’s still my turn.”
I drop my fork onto my plate and sigh at her stubbornness. “My food’s getting cold.”
She ignores my feigned irritation and she leans forward, looking me directly in the eyes. “I want to know about your sister. And why you referred to her in the past tense.”
Ah, shit. Did I refer to her in the past tense? I look up at the ceiling and sigh. “Ugh. You really ask the deep questions, huh?”
“That’s how the game is played. I didn’t make up the rules.”
I guess there’s no getting out of this explanation. But honestly, I don’t mind telling her. There are certain things about my past I’d rather not discuss, but Les doesn’t really feel like my past. She still feels very much a part of my present.
“Remember when I told you my family had a pretty fucked-up year last year?”
She nods, and I hate that I’m about to put a damper on our conversation. But she doesn’t like vague, so . . . “She died thirteen months ago. She killed herself, even though my mother would rather we use the term ‘purposely overdosed.’”
I keep my eyes locked on hers, waiting for the “I’m so sorry,” or the “It was meant to happen,” to come out of her mouth like it comes out of everyone else’s mouth.
“What was her name?” she asks. The fact that she even asks like she’s genuinely interested is unexpected.
“Lesslie. I called her Les.”
“Was she older than you?”
Only by three minutes. “We were twins,” I say, right before I take a
Losing Hope Page 13
