With wonderment, I blink and say to him, “How did you do this? The stars look iridescent.”
“It’s just paint, Amelia.”
I’d always thought of spray paint as sort of clunky and crass but this is… It leaves me breathless, almost haunted.
“It’s not just paint.”
He gives an embarrassed laugh and rakes a hand back through his long hair.
“I mean it,” I tell him, wanting to reach out and touch the painted black edge of the water just to hold onto the feeling that’s burning through my veins for a little longer. But I refrain because I don’t want to ruin Sebastian’s work. “I wish I could make something out of nothing.”
“Who says you can’t?”
I shrug and turn away from the wall to face him head on. “I’m not talented. Playing a decent game of tennis and getting good grades in school is not the same thing.”
“I wasn’t thinking of tennis or school,” he says cryptically. And then he changes directions, tipping his face to the night. “So that cliff story? Does that mean you aren’t afraid of heights?”
“Why?”
Sebastian looks at the old water tower and back to me.
“You want to climb it?” I ask in disbelief. “Is it even safe?”
“Mostly.”
I can tell that he doesn’t really expect me to go along with this idea because his face is transformed by surprise when I bend down to unstrap the heeled sandals on my feet and gather up the bottom of the turquoise dress.
“You’re doing it?”
“I’m doing it,” I answer, leaving the dress in a loose knot that hangs at the side of my thigh.
Sebastian lets me go up the ladder first, which turns out to be a good move. The climb is scarier than I even anticipate and I’m only able to manage it because I know he’s just behind me, his face level with my calves and his outstretched arms primed to catch me should I stumble.
“You’re almost there,” he urges as my hands grip the curve at the top of the ladder.
There is an instant of panic when my bare foot slips on the slick surface of the last rung, but Sebastian is already pushing up from behind, steadying me with his hard chest and strong arms.
“You got it, Amelia.”
“Um, thanks,” I mumble, drawing in a relieved breath and trying not to let myself press against him or notice the quick, fiery sensation that is traveling up the length of my spine like a lit fuse.
“There’s a platform just that way. It’s only about ten feet,” he says, encouraging me.
Ignoring the pulsating of my body, I cautiously step onto the curved and narrow walkway that hugs the belly of the water tower.
Ten feet or not, progress is slow. I’m careful not to focus on the dizzying distance between myself and the ground. Sebastian stays back, patiently waiting as I plan out each step and scoot along, squeezing the rusty metal rail so tight with my fingers I know my knuckles must be white.
“It’s not a cliff looking out over the Pacific,” he says in a fading voice. Up here, I note, the wind sucks up sound, scattering it in every direction like confetti.
“It’s still beautiful,” I say, the sight of the slanting and boundless landscape below driving away my fear and replacing it with euphoria.
Then I must shiver or give some clue that I’m suddenly feeling the chill in the air because Sebastian tells me to sit against the water tower to block the rushing breeze.
“I should have brought my jacket up here,” he says, looking apologetically at his chest, which even in the dim light, is on full display in his practically see-through white tank.
“I’m fine,” I say and my heart flutters. Stupid, idiotic heart.
“You’re not, but we’re all the way up here now. Actually, I should have taken you home to change entirely. That dress is speckled with paint.”
“It’s Daphne’s and she’ll just have to get over it,” I tell him as I swing my legs under the railing so that they dangle off the corrugated steel platform. “I guess this whole night isn’t what you thought it would be when you put a suit on and came to pick me up, is it?”
He smiles as if to himself. “Nope. It’s better.”
I purse my lips. “Better? Which part did you like the most—when you had to wrestle my sister’s boyfriend to the ground or when I made you leave Homecoming early? Or—ooh, I know—it was when I kept you from your best friend’s concert, wasn’t it?”
“Amelia, I’m sitting here with the best view in all of Green Cove and I promise you that Seth will have other shows,” he says. “And you have got to already know that I never cared about the dance.”
“I thought you wanted to eat cookies,” I joke even though his expression is serious.
He looks at me. Just looks and I could swear that there is something in that look. Something bigger than what I’m grasping.
“I never gave a lick about cookies,” he says quietly, his chiseled features stern in the shadowed moonlight. “I only wanted a claim on that time. With you.”
Swallowing down a lump in my throat, I say, “Me?”
Amazingly, his eyes drop to my mouth and then come back up and I finally allow myself to see that they are scorching hot and full of want.
Is this actually happening?
Is he going to kiss me?
Do I want him to kiss me?
Yes, says a voice in my mind, faint at first but growing stronger. Yes.
Out loud, I hear myself say, “But I thought…”
Sebastian scratches the back of his neck and I watch with fascination as his shoulder muscles flex and the Adam’s apple in his throat bobs. He’s nervous. Because of me.
“I like you, Amelia.”
My breath hitches. It’s such a simple thing to say, but I can’t help but think how hard that must have been for him. How those few small words are tangled up inside of my own head, twisting and gnawing at me.
But if he can be brave, I can be brave too. So with my pulse beating madly in the palms of my hands, I lean in to close the distance between us. His grey eyes narrow and flicker over every inch of me, setting the air around us ablaze.
Yes.
Emboldened and pretending not to be afraid of the pressing intensity of that gaze, I take my index finger and gently stroke the side of his face, just below his ear where his jaw meets his neck.
For a long moment, Sebastian is ridiculously still. And then, like a breath that can only be held for so long, his whole body shudders.
“I was sure you would never give me a chance,” he says, capturing my hand and pressing it over his chest where his unyielding heart drums like thunder. “But, Amelia, I don’t want this if it’s only for tonight.”
“That’s not what I want either.”
“You’re in?”
“I’m in,” I whisper back.
This is the answer he was hoping for. His mouth curves and he leans down to me. I part my lips, tilting my head back to welcome him, and that first touch explodes quickly through my body.
Yes.
My heart races and I kiss him back with a pleasure and a strange kind of possessiveness that goes deeper and seems older than anything I’ve ever known. I’ve done this before, yes, but never like this. Like I’m opening up someone’s soul and jumping inside to have a look around.
And that feeling, unstoppable as the wind whistling up through the spindly pine trees and forcing the black, black clouds across the sky, goes both ways. I know this with the same certainty I know day from night.
Sebastian’s hands tighten on me and slide down to my waist to knead at my hips. My heart trips as I think of that night at the beach and how I’d told him that I wanted something real.
This. This is real.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Bash
It’s a Saturday morning and I’m sitting next to one of the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen in my life. She’s shaking out her long hair and separating it into three sections so that she can braid it, and whil
e she does this, she talks about a movie she watched last night as she was falling asleep. Yellow sunlight plays up her delicate features and the faint smattering of freckles on her nose. Her legs are crossed primly over each other and she’s got an English lit textbook in her lap. Every now and then, she stops talking, looks over, and gives me a shy smile.
That’s it. The look that gets me every single time.
Unable to help myself, I shove away my economics book, wrap my arms across her middle, and pick her up from the couch. Then I fall backward, cradling her on top of me as we crash into the loose throw pillows.
“Stop!” she cries out and tries to push away, but she’s laughing along with me.
I brush her hair back, careful not to mess up the fresh braid, and draw her face closer to mine. Her eyes fall closed and she gives a soft, vulnerable sigh, opening her mouth for me. Like always, my chest tightens and I feel an electric jolt running through my entire body.
My fingers slowly trace the waistband of her navy blue skirt as I kiss her lips and the sweet, hot skin that spans from her jaw to her collarbone. When I get to the tiny buttons that are keeping her shirt together, she exhales almost like she’s melting into my hands, and whispers directly in my ear, “We can’t. Carter.”
“He’s playing with Legos in his room,” I argue, trying not to stare at the tiny strip of bra my exploration has uncovered. Pink lace.
“And he might get bored with them and come out here any minute.”
She’s right. I know she’s right, but that doesn’t stop me from groaning in agony as I lift her off of me and the pink lace disappears from my line of sight.
“Plus,” she says smartly, “we’re supposed to be studying.”
“And one of these days the stars and the scheduling gods will align and we’ll be studying all alone.”
She gives me that pensive smile, nearly killing me right then and there. “What will you do then?”
Her boldness raises my eyebrows. “I haven’t gotten past the being alone part, but I think I can figure it out. And in two weeks that might happen.”
“Is that so?”
“Carter is supposed to stay with our aunt and uncle in Charleston.”
She stares at me.
“What is it?” I ask her.
“Two weekends from now I’ll be in Columbia for a student government trip.”
“Student government? Damn it all to hell. This is exactly what’s wrong with politics.”
She laughs and once again, I’m like a moth to the flame. I lean in and cup the back of her neck.
“Forget the shitty timing of the trip and come here,” I say, dragging her close and grazing my lips against hers.
See, I’m allowed to do things like this because the beautiful girl happens to be my girlfriend.
My girlfriend.
How’s that for Karma?
“I used to wonder about this,” she murmurs.
“Wonder about what?”
Her thumb trails along my chin. “This,” she whispers. “What it would be like to kiss you with your scruffy jaw.”
“And?”
She laughs against my mouth. “Isn’t it obvious?”
My heart goes a little berserk over her admission and I make a snap decision. “Amelia, I want to show you something.”
“What is it?” she asks.
Hating to put distance between us but needing to reach my bag, I hold her hand on top of my thigh as I bend down and grab my cracked black leather notebook. It feels damn heavy in my hands and I wonder if that’s simply a side effect of my nerves.
I’ve never let anyone look at my sketchbook before. Not Seth. Not Carter. Not Rachel back when we were a thing. Not even my mother.
Amelia takes the notebook from me and rests back on the couch. I know the moment she realizes what she’s looking at because she stops and her eyes come to mine with a question.
I nod, trying not to show her how anxious I am, and it must work because she turns the page and studies the first drawing.
It’s a hand facing palm side up. Simple enough, except that when you get to the wrist, you see the craggy veins, weaving across pale skin like the lines on some outdated road map. And then there are the thick IV lines marking out the territory like grim-looking flags.
“Your mom?” she asks, running her index finger over the bottom of the page.
“Yeah.”
She moves slowly through the book, stopping occasionally to ask me a question or make a comment. Most of the drawings are messy or unfinished. Some are funny ideas I started for t-shirts and some are rough landscapes I’ve drawn from memory or imagination. She goes a little moony over the one of Carter sleeping with his favorite bear and blanket tucked under his chin. And finally, she gets to the first one of herself.
“When did you draw this?” she asks me, her voice filled with something like awe.
“September.”
I can tell that this astonishes her because those maple syrup eyes of hers get impossibly big. “But we weren’t even talking then.”
“That doesn’t mean I wasn’t looking,” I tell her. “It was the day after I found out you were tutoring Carter. I drew you while we were in Spanish class.”
“I never knew,” she says, shaking her head and looking back at the sketchbook.
“That was the idea.”
She flips through a couple more pages until she gets to one of my favorites. She stares at it, not saying a thing for the longest time. So long that my pulse starts to buzz disturbingly.
“And this one?” she finally asks.
It’s a pencil sketch of her and her sister stretched out on the grass of the main courtyard at school. Daphne has on bulky sunglasses that block out most of her face. Amelia’s eyes are closed and her face is tilted up to the sky, soaking up the warmth.
“I saw you two like that during lunch one day and…” I can’t believe I’m about to tell her this. I’m going to sound like a stalker and, hell, I probably deserve the label. “I took a picture on my phone so I wouldn’t forget and then I drew it after work later that afternoon.”
“I love it,” she says even as her expression darkens. I know why. Every time her sister comes up, her face shutters, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. It’s been like that for weeks
“Still not talking?”
A tiny muscle on the left side of her face clenches. “I’ve tried so many times but she refuses to discuss Spencer. She says I’m crazy and that you were confused about what happened.”
“Amelia, I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault that things are so strained,” she says with a sigh. “Honestly, Nancy and Daddy don’t even notice the tension. Audra, on the other hand, says she’s giving us exactly one more week to work our crap out. Or else.”
“What happens in a week?”
A small smile dances over her mouth. “With Audra I don’t know, but I don’t want to find out either.”
I laugh. I can see that. Audra Singer is a take-no-prisoners kind of girl. “You and Daphne are going to figure it out.”
“You know, sometimes I think she’s playing like she’s still mad at me because she’s really mad at herself,” she says quietly, her teeth sliding over her bottom lip. “Or maybe that’s just what I’m hoping is true.”
“Nah, it makes sense. Have you talked to your parents about Spencer yet?”
“Not yet. She made me promise not to say anything and I just…I...”
“You don’t want to go back on that?”
She swallows and nods. Amelia knows how I feel about this because we’ve been over it already, but I don’t want to be the one pushing her into a decision she’s not ready for.
“Either way it doesn’t feel right,” she says, her face pinching.
I thread our fingers together and guide her to my chest. Even though I’ve been doing this same move every day since Homecoming, it still amazes me how well she fits with my body. That she wants to be like this with me.
Pressing my mouth to her forehead just below her hairline, I say, “Maybe promises are supposed to hurt a little. Keeping them and breaking them.”
“Sebastian, I don’t want you to think Daphne is weak or stupid because she’s not.”
“I know,” I say, thinking of my own mother and how for years she struggled to find it inside of herself to leave my father, bastard that he was. “It’s not just about strength or smarts.”
“Daphne’s lost right now. Or something.” Amelia shakes her head and holds up my sketchbook. “But enough of that. Let’s talk about this.”
“What about it?”
She tips her head back so that she can meet my eyes. “I already knew you were good, but these are incredible.”
“I don’t know about incredible.”
“Well, I do. Sebastian, you have to do this.”
“You mean like for a job?”
She nods. “Or for school. You know… Emory probably has a good art program.”
“Emory? Isn’t that in Atlanta?”
Again, she nods. “But it’s not that far. I mapped it the other day and it’s only a five-hour drive from here to there.”
I start to wonder why she was looking at the map between Green Cove and Atlanta, and then with a sick and sudden force, it becomes clear. “Is that where you’re going next year?”
“Maybe. I’m still deciding between there, Vanderbilt, Wake Forest or maybe College of Charleston or Tulane. And, obviously I still have to get in.”
“You’ll get in.”
She shrugs and chews on her bottom lip. I’ve always known that Amelia would be leaving Green Cove for school, but sitting here on my couch with the taste of her still fresh on my lips, I start to think about what that means for me.
Logically, we haven’t been together long enough for me to care. Still… I care.
“Sebastian,” she says, her voice wobbly as she flips back through the pages of the sketchbook, “there are a lot of great scholarship programs. If you let people see these drawings the way that I’m seeing them, they would sit up and take notice.”
The Bright Effect Page 14
