them?” I asked, more than a little belatedly.
“Redo them in
charcoal, probably.”
I waited for more.
“And then?”
He shrugged into
his hoodie and stared down at me. “Tack them to my bedroom wall?”
My lips parted,
but I had no idea what to say. Bedroom wall?
His eyes returned
to the pad, turned to the second drawing. “Who wouldn’t want to wake up to
this?”
That statement had
a ninety-nine percent chance of meaning what it seemed to suggest, but I wasn’t
sure enough to reply in kind, so I said nothing. He closed the sketchpad and
laid it on the bookcase near the door. Taking my chin in his hand, he rubbed
his thumb across my lower lip, gently.
“Ah, crap.” He
pulled his hand away and looked at his fingers. “I forgot what my hands look
like after drawing.” He looked at my shirt. “You may have little gray marks…
everywhere.”
Assuming I now had
a gray lip and possibly faint streaks of gray across my abdomen and the upper
curves of my breasts, I couldn’t think what to say beyond, “Oh.”
He balled his
hands into fists, set one under my chin to raise it again and used the other to
tug me closer. “Don’t worry, no fingers.” Dragging my body against his, he
kissed me, his back against the door to my room. In this position, there was no
hiding what his body wanted from me. I pressed against him and he groaned into
my mouth and wrenched his mouth from mine, breathing raggedly. “I have to go
now, or I’m not going.”
This was the
moment for me to say Stay , but I couldn’t. Kennedy flashed through my
mind, saying something oh-so-similar not that long ago. Even more insane was
the thought of Landon, and a possible email waiting for me. Neither of those
things should matter. Not in this moment.
Lucas straightened
and cleared his throat. Kissing my forehead and the tip of my nose, he opened
the door. “Later,” he said, and was gone.
I gripped the doorframe
and watched him walk away, pulling the beanie over his tousled hair. Every girl
he passed glanced up. Some turned and watched until he reached the stairwell
door, before whipping their heads around to see where he’d come from. I
retreated into my room and left them to their speculation.
The interrupting
email wasn’t from Landon, it was from Mom—and contained my parents’ itinerary
for their ski trip to Colorado. A ski trip that I’d not been invited to join. A
ski trip scheduled for the only mid-semester weekend I’d planned to spend at
home—a holiday weekend, no less.
Still, I had a
difficult time stirring up any real anger when I opened her email, for two
reasons. One, I was oddly disappointed that it wasn’t Landon’s name in my
inbox, and two, I was so high from being thoroughly kissed by Lucas that I
didn’t care about a holiday eleven days in the future, or how I’d be spending
it.
***
By Sunday evening, I was eating
spoonfuls of peanut butter for dinner, watching He’s Just Not That Into You ,
and telling myself I was clearly no exception to anyone’s rule. Landon
still hadn’t emailed, and I hadn’t heard from Lucas, either.
Erin was due back
any moment, and I was eager for her boisterous, colorful presence in our room.
Too much quiet left me depressed and consuming condiments for meals.
My inbox dinged
and I debated whether or not to pause the movie to check it. I wasn’t in the
mood for another of my mother’s efforts to shed her remorse about deserting me
on a major holiday. So far, she’d tried logic (“It was your year to go to
Kennedy’s.”), emotional blackmail (“Your father and I haven’t had a trip alone
in twenty years.”), and one grudging invitation to join them (“I suppose we
could get you a ticket. But you’d have to sleep on the sofa or a cot, because
the rooms are undoubtedly booked.”). I ignored the first two and said No,
thanks to the third.
What next—an
attempt to buy me off? A proposed shopping trip wouldn’t be out of the
question—she’d used that
“Redo them in
charcoal, probably.”
I waited for more.
“And then?”
He shrugged into
his hoodie and stared down at me. “Tack them to my bedroom wall?”
My lips parted,
but I had no idea what to say. Bedroom wall?
His eyes returned
to the pad, turned to the second drawing. “Who wouldn’t want to wake up to
this?”
That statement had
a ninety-nine percent chance of meaning what it seemed to suggest, but I wasn’t
sure enough to reply in kind, so I said nothing. He closed the sketchpad and
laid it on the bookcase near the door. Taking my chin in his hand, he rubbed
his thumb across my lower lip, gently.
“Ah, crap.” He
pulled his hand away and looked at his fingers. “I forgot what my hands look
like after drawing.” He looked at my shirt. “You may have little gray marks…
everywhere.”
Assuming I now had
a gray lip and possibly faint streaks of gray across my abdomen and the upper
curves of my breasts, I couldn’t think what to say beyond, “Oh.”
He balled his
hands into fists, set one under my chin to raise it again and used the other to
tug me closer. “Don’t worry, no fingers.” Dragging my body against his, he
kissed me, his back against the door to my room. In this position, there was no
hiding what his body wanted from me. I pressed against him and he groaned into
my mouth and wrenched his mouth from mine, breathing raggedly. “I have to go
now, or I’m not going.”
This was the
moment for me to say Stay , but I couldn’t. Kennedy flashed through my
mind, saying something oh-so-similar not that long ago. Even more insane was
the thought of Landon, and a possible email waiting for me. Neither of those
things should matter. Not in this moment.
Lucas straightened
and cleared his throat. Kissing my forehead and the tip of my nose, he opened
the door. “Later,” he said, and was gone.
I gripped the doorframe
and watched him walk away, pulling the beanie over his tousled hair. Every girl
he passed glanced up. Some turned and watched until he reached the stairwell
door, before whipping their heads around to see where he’d come from. I
retreated into my room and left them to their speculation.
The interrupting
email wasn’t from Landon, it was from Mom—and contained my parents’ itinerary
for their ski trip to Colorado. A ski trip that I’d not been invited to join. A
ski trip scheduled for the only mid-semester weekend I’d planned to spend at
home—a holiday weekend, no less.
Still, I had a
difficult time stirring up any real anger when I opened her email, for two
reasons. One, I was oddly disappointed that it wasn’t Landon’s name in my
inbox, and two, I was so high from being thoroughly kissed by Lucas that I
didn’t care about a holiday eleven days in the future, or how I’d be spending
it.
***
By Sunday evening, I was eating
spoonfuls of peanut butter for dinner, watching He’s Just Not That Into You ,
and telling myself I was clearly no exception to anyone’s rule. Landon
still hadn’t emailed, and I hadn’t heard from Lucas, either.
Erin was due back
any moment, and I was eager for her boisterous, colorful presence in our room.
Too much quiet left me depressed and consuming condiments for meals.
My inbox dinged
and I debated whether or not to pause the movie to check it. I wasn’t in the
mood for another of my mother’s efforts to shed her remorse about deserting me
on a major holiday. So far, she’d tried logic (“It was your year to go to
Kennedy’s.”), emotional blackmail (“Your father and I haven’t had a trip alone
in twenty years.”), and one grudging invitation to join them (“I suppose we
could get you a ticket. But you’d have to sleep on the sofa or a cot, because
the rooms are undoubtedly booked.”). I ignored the first two and said No,
thanks to the third.
What next—an
attempt to buy me off? A proposed shopping trip wouldn’t be out of the
question—she’d used that
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