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The blood drained from his face. "Is all that true?"
I almost rolled my eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever."
"Not 'whatever.' Angel, look at me." He took my chin and made me obey. "We all have parts of ourselves that we don't like to share. I understand that. I just forgot it for a minute. I really am sorry."
I shrugged, deflated. "Not your fault."
He pulled me back under his arm. "I upset you. I didn't mean to."
I relaxed into his hold, stuffing my face into the crook of his neck. "Please don't ask me about it."
"I won't."
Breathing in his scent, I decided to make the most of my last few hours with him. I was going to stay like that-nose flush against him, feeling the freedom, listening to the hum of the road under the vans' tires and the punk music burbling through the speakers-for as long as I could.
"Would you be interested in being the girlfriend of an asshole like me?"
I went rigid again and pulled away to look at him. He was so beautiful, with his wide-eyed expression and soft smile. "Why, Jake? Why would you want that?"
"Is it so tough to believe I like talking to you? And I started writing your song months ago. Did I tell you that?" Jakes brow was scrunched, but his eyes held amusement. "Besides, you're so damn hot. That alone is reason enough, right?"
I waited, watching him. I enjoyed being coveted, but even I knew that was nothing to build a relationship on and that was something I didn't know I wanted, because I wouldn't let myself think it, until Jake touched me and kissed me in that greedy way he had; as if he were starving for something only I possessed. And looking at him in that moment, recalling the feeling of him the night before, I knew I needed something true and lasting from him. I needed him. I needed him to say that he needed me. So I waited, hoping.
His affirmation was barely audible over the music from the radio. "Come on, Angel. It's not like we just met. We've been talking after every show for the better part of two years. Do you think I do that with everyone?"
He looked deep into my eyes. "Well, I don't. I like you. More than I should. I like how sensitive and attuned you are to me. I like that you understand how important my music is. You don't assume anything or talk too much shit. And you're really sweet. Thoughtful." His eyes were soft as he grinned down at me. "But above all of that, I love the way you look at me, and the way it feels when I do something that makes you smile. How it makes me feel . . ." His palm rested against my face, gently sliding down to my mouth, "when I touch you."
The heat coming off of his confession charged the air between us. Our mouths were mere millimeters apart. Every other part of my body was flush against his-my shoulders and both arms, my side, my hip, and the whole length of my leg. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to taste those delicious lips to see if they were as sweet as my memory told me they were.
"You do?" My heart leapt inside my chest when the edges of his lips curved sweetly up.
"I'm a sucker for laying it all out like this, but yes. Very much," Jake said. "The only thing holding me back was I thought maybe you were too young. I was right about that."
I cringed at the reminder of my lie. "It's only three years."
"It's closer to four. So I need to be able to trust you-especially if we're going to keep doing what we did last night." He smirked, and the arm that was slipped behind me reached down my back and into the tops of my jeans. I felt his fingertips tug at the lace of my panties and blushed furiously.
"So? You promise?"
"I promise. I won't hide anything."
"Good, Liar." He closed the gap between us, sending beautiful shivers through me.
6
-Angel
It was a blazing Saturday afternoon, a little over a month since that first night at the motel. I really was seventeen by then.
Jake and I were lounging in the pick-up truck he'd borrowed from his mom. We were parked in a small patch of shade behind one of the few drive-thru burger stands in Carlisle. The small tree only shaded my half of the cab. The radio was tuned to a local rock station which played an eclectic mix of modern and classic. As I sat beside Jake on the bench seat of the Chevy, the speakers churned out Sebastian Bachs' aching screams about the tragedy of being eighteen.
A gentle breeze floated through the windows, cooling the beads of moisture building on my neck and back. I had my feet up on the seat and my back against the door.
Jakes' expression was raw. It had been that way since he surprised me with his pledge of love in the line of the drive-thru only a few minutes before. He was thoughtfully staring at his half-eaten burger peeking from the foil wrapping.
