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Ian slid in beside me and rubbed a hand along my back soothingly. “Yep. Definitely an addiction.”
I giggled into the mattress. “You’re a sex addict.”
“Only with you.”
I smiled, remembering our conversation in the library.
Ian adjusted his pillow, the mattress bouncing as he slid lower on the bed. “Rest for 30 minutes. Then you’re going to read me your poem.”
My eyes snapped open. Suddenly I was no longer tired. I was also incredibly grateful to be facing away from him so he couldn’t see my panicked expression. “I don’t have it with me.”
“Good try.” He slapped my sore ass and I cried out indignantly. “Your next class is writing. You telling me you don’t keep all your notes and essays neatly in a binder like you do for our History of Music class?”
“You’re a brute,” I muttered petulantly.
He snorted. “It’s not my fault your ways are archaic. Or that you’re so adorably predictable.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Ian woke me up to read my poem, he made me stand in front of his damn TV again. It was way more nerve wracking than playing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” too. This was my creation and a personal one to both of us. I was terrified he would read into it. I’d bared a lot to Ian, but I wasn’t ready to bare my soul.
When I finished reading, he exhaled loudly as if he’d been holding his breath.
“Lex, I’m really impressed. You have talent. That douchebag was right.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Is it really that hard to believe?”
“Not at all. I just didn’t know how much talent.” His lips twitched and for a moment I thought he was going to hold back, but Ian could never resist. “You’re a dark one, aren’t you? Did you used to be emo?”
Laughing, I hit him with my binder before putting it away in my bag. “I feel emotions intensely, okay? That’s why I’m a writer.”
“I get it. I get out all my angst by playing guitar.”
I bit my lip and slung my bag over my shoulder. Angst. Was that the right word to describe what my poem invoked?
“I’d better get to class,” I said, not looking at him.
“Hey.” He stood up and blocked my path to leave. “Everything okay?”
I hesitated, considering whether or not to tell him the truth. If there was a note of anxiety in my poem, it was because I was anxious. And reading my poem aloud to Ian had forced me to face that I really did feel these things.
We'd only been dating for a few days, but it felt like months. I wanted to tell him that I was worried I was falling too hard for him and that while I trusted he was into me too, I was also secretly terrified his interest would fade and he would grow bored with me. Especially if I continued to give him what he wanted. And what were we going to do at the end of the school year when we had to go our separate ways?
Ian put a finger under my chin and forced my head up to look at him. “Tell me what’s going on in there.”
No, it was too early for that conversation. So I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Reading the poem just made me think of my writing class and the poem I have to write Friday.”
Ian didn’t look convinced, but he released my chin. “I’ll see you in the seminar then?”
I nodded and tried for my best smile. “See you then.”
I didn’t sit with Jacqueline and Charlotte in my Astronomy lecture. Instead I picked an empty seat directly at the front of the class. I was determined to push everything else out of my mind and focus on my studies. Maybe if I could take a step back from Ian, I could control the rate at which I was falling for him. The sex certainly wasn’t helping in that regard—it was amazing and nothing like I’d ever imagined. When we were in that world, it was like we could read each other’s minds. As if we’d been doing it for years rather than simply experimenting with new things together.
After an hour of studying in the Science building, I arrived at our History of Music seminar a little late. When I entered the room, everyone stopped talking and looked at me. Ian was reclining in his chair dangerously, the front two legs off the ground. He grinned and pulled out the chair beside him. Mark had taken my usual seat across the table.
Professor Durst was always trying to get our group to interact like buddies rather than peers, and she loved playing the young prof that could relate to us. Today was no different.
“We were just saying we could all see it coming,” she told me with a knowing smile.
