Page 39
Self-consciousness creeps up my neck. I rub at it, avoiding her gaze. “I, uh, didn’t realize you paid attention.”
“I sat behind you in math.” She shoots me a look that’s part exasperation, part fondness. “How could I not notice you always had your sketch book open rather than a notebook?”
My chest clenches. All those times I thought I was being subtle, sketching while the teacher droned on, she was watching. Here I thought she never noticed me. “Did you ever see what I was drawing?”
She shakes her head, but her eyes light up with curiosity. “No, but I wanted to. You always managed to close it before I could see.”
The weight of years-old secrets presses against my ribs. My mind drifts to my desk drawer upstairs, to the fraying sketchbook that holds evidence of every pathetic crush, every stolen glance, every moment I wished things were different. If there was ever a time to lay my cards on the table, to confess exactly how long I’ve been gone for this woman, it’s now.
“Do you want to see?” The words are out before I can second-guess them.
Her eyes practically glow with excitement. “You still have it?”
That’s all the encouragement I need. I shoot to my feet like I’ve been electrocuted. “I’ll be right back.” I stride across the deck, through the house, up the stairs, grasping on to determination to keep me from backing out. My heart hammers against my ribs as I slip into my room and yank open the desk drawer. The sketch book sits there, worn and familiar, holding secrets I’ve never shared with anyone.
When I return to the deck, Lily makes grabby hands like an excited kid on Christmas morning. I plop down beside her, the book suddenly heavier than it should be in my palms. I may regret this. With a sigh and a prayer that this won’t blow up in my face, I hand it over.
She takes it with a delighted squeal. She smooths her hand over the battered cover like it’s made of gold.
“I swear I used to spend hours wondering what you were drawing.” Her eyes widen with panic. “Not that I was like obsessed with you or anything. It wasn’t weird. I swear. God, I’m rambling. Why can’t I stop rambling?”
“Lily?”
She freezes and looks at me. “Yeah?”
“Shut up and open the book.”
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile, and carefully opens to the first page. The early drawings are safe enough—flowers in a vase, my mom reading on the porch, a rough sketch of the Mustang I dreamed of buying. But then she turns the page, and I know we’ve entered dangerous territory. She could very well scream and hit me with the book, totally freaked out about what she’s going to find, and run for the hills.
Her breath catches in her throat as she stares at the first portrait. I look anywhere but at her face. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. This was such a stupid idea. She probably thinks I’m some kind of stalker now. I wait for her to slam the book shut, to demand an explanation, but all I hear is the soft whisper of pages turning.
I rub my thumb against my palm and chance a glance at her. She’s staring at a grayscale sketch of herself from junior year, the one where I tried to capture the way she looked during lunch, laughing at something Callie said.
“It’s not like I was obsessed with you or anything,” I quip, throwing her earlier words back at her.
Her gaze lifts to meet mine, something unreadable flickering in those green depths. “You drew me?”
“Unless you know someone else with those freckles.”
She doesn’t say anything. The moment stretches like eternity until she sets the book aside with reverent care and crawls into my lap. The blanket drops to a heap on the planks. My arms wrap around Lily automatically as her lips crash into mine, desperate and sweet and everything I’ve dreamed of for years.
Kissing her is like coming home. Like a cool glass of water after years with nothing to drink. Her lips are soft and warm, moving against mine with growing confidence. She sighs happily into my mouth, and I bury my fingers in her silky hair, tipping her head so I can deepen the kiss and taste every inch of her.
We only break apart when we need to breathe. She pulls back, chest rising and falling rapidly, her eyes locked on mine with a question I can read as clearly as words. Will you hurt me?
“Never,” I vow. “But it’s not just me, Lily. Me and the guys have liked you since before you and Matt started dating.”
Her forehead creases with worry. “I can’t date three guys at one time.”
“Why not? Callie did.”
She hums, thinking for a moment. “You won’t get jealous?”
“Not of them.” Honesty comes easy in the moonlight. “Anyone else, fuck yeah, but Gage and Cole are like brothers to me. I know they’ll make you happy, and that makes me happy.”
She drops her forehead to my shoulder. The warmth of her breath filtering through my shirt. “This is crazy.”
“Maybe.” I run my hand down the curve of her spine, memorizing the feel of her in my arms. “Nothing has to change. We can go back to being friends if that’s what you want.” The words taste like ash, but I force them out anyway. The thought of losing her now, when I’ve finally gotten a taste of what we could be, makes my chest ache.
