Page 134 of Fall Fake-Out

I can’t wrap my head around what that means to me. How much that info heals a part of me that’s been hurt all these years.

Almost unconsciously, I move closer. His arm tightens around my waist, enough to make the space between us disappear. I lift my hands, hooking them around his neck. My cheek brushes his as we sway together, and suddenly, I’m aware of everything. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The warmth of his hand spread across my back. The faint scent of his cologne.

His thumb drifts back and forth in a slow, absentminded stroke, and every pass sends another wave of awareness through me. Around us, students laugh and music plays, but it all fades into background noise. My entire world zooms in on the man holding me.

I can feel his grip through the thin fabric of my dress. Feel the way his body shifts with mine. Every time I breathe in, I catch another hint of his scent. I feel his breath near my temple, and my pulse refuses to calm.

The craziest part is how this feels like where I’m supposed to be. Like Wade’s arms are home. Like all those years apart somehow led us here.

I tilt my head slightly, and my nose brushes the side of his jaw. His hand flexes against my back. Not much. Just enough to tell me he noticed too.

Neither of us says a word. A dangerous silence hangs between us. One where both of us know exactly what we’re thinking. What we want.

Tension fills my chest.

Heartbeats intensify.

The song ends.

Slowly, we both pull back, lips almost brushing along the way, sending a spike of chills down my body.

For a second, we just stand there, staring.

Wade looks like he wants to skip to the end credits.

The same desire pulses through me too.

He grabs my hand and, without saying anything, leads me off the dance floor, away from everyone else.

And I go without any hesitation.

Ari

Wade doesn’t stop walking.

He leads me through the edge of the gym, past students dancing and taking selfies.

My pulse pounds harder with every step.

I know exactly where this is headed, and I’m more than fine with it.

We reach the far side of the gym where the bleachers are pushed back against the wall. There is two feet of space under where the rafters are stacked together. The shadows are deeper there, hidden beneath the metal framework and wooden supports.

Private.

Not completely private.

But private enough where no one would see us.

Wade steps over the frame, leading me underneath. He walks over poles until we’re in the middle, where it’s the darkest.

The sounds of the dance continue around us. Music. Laughter. The occasional squeak of gym shoes.

But all of it feels far away.

His hand is still wrapped around mine.

Neither of us lets go.