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I’m as surprised as Bryce by my conviction. Although my decision was made before this conversation, I never articulated my feelings out loud.
Suddenly, Bryce’s finger grazes my chin to tilt my face in his direction. When he speaks, it’s almost gentle.
“Darren will not give you some kind of transformative experience, Ana. You’re wasting your time.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Gentleness in his tone has given way to the impatience I’ve come to expect.
“You don’t know anything about Darren. In fact, you barely know anything about me.”
“We both know that’s not true.”
“Whatever. You don’t even look at me. How would you know what I want?”
“Dammit, Ana,” he growls. “All I fucking do is look at you when I shouldn’t.”
Something deep in me unfurls. A mix of curiosity and courage that has been percolating for a while. Maybe from the first moment I sought Bryce’s attention and he dismissed me as a stupid girl. Maybe it’s the buildup of all the times I wanted him to acknowledge me as an equal or at least a friend. Whatever is happening between us is confusing and I’m sick of being confused.
“When you’re not being cryptic, you’re talking down to me. I’m tired of it! You think you know everything because you’re the great Bryce MacElroy. The genius, the dream kid, the smartest guy in the room. Whatever. This is one thing you don’t get to be an expert in.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he states firmly.
Is he seriously doubling down on this?
“You’re all talk.”
He’s quiet for a while. “Anastasia.” The way he says my name makes my head shoot up. He’s never spoken it that way before. Like it’s a secret he’s treasuring.
Bryce has removed his glasses, and it takes my breath away a little because his eyes are so pretty. There are silver streaks throughout a ring of bright blue. I remember seeing that exact shade during art class. The paint’s label read indigo. That’s it. Bryce has pretty, indigo eyes. Fluttering lashes and delicately shaped, they make no sense on a face that masculine.
“I’m not a genius or a dream anything. If I ever made you feel like I know more than you do, I’m sorry. There isn’t a sharper mind than yours, Ana. Not mine. Not anyone’s.”
My puffed-up annoyance deflates a little. His apology seems sincere.
“This isn’t really about Darren, is it?” Bryce asks. “What’s going on?”
Honesty rears its embarrassing head. Before I can censor myself, I blurt, “The one time I kissed my sort-of boyfriend, I made a fool of myself.”
I leave out the part where Billy said I might have taken his tonsils out. Whatever transformative experience I imagined turned into me mauling him.
“That’s impossible.”
“It was awful. I was the worst.”
He speaks as if something is choking his airways. “That guy was awful, not you. He didn’t know how to hold you, how to make you feel safe, how to give you what you need. He didn’t worship your lips like they deserve to be worshipped.”
I huff, because what is he talking about? I don’t think I’m hearing him properly.
“But you would? You would know how to…” I’m too self-conscious to repeat the details of his statement. “To hold me?”
He reaches out to graze my cheek before cradling one side of my head. His palm is gentle, but there’s a confidence behind it too. Something resolute and unshakable, as if everything led to this; would always lead to this. I rub my cheek against his hand like a needy cat.
A sound comes out of Bryce, a manly humph, as if a decision has been made. “I can show you. If you want.”
My traitorous brain screams: I want. I want. I want. I bite down on my lower lip in order to suppress that desperate chant.
“Come closer, Ana,” Bryce says hoarsely. “Show me that you really want this. The only way to be sure is if you come to me.” He caresses my cheek with a rough thumb. The motion is tender and comforting.
