His fingers are long and warm and strong, and feel fabulous in between mine.
Most of my friends look at a guy’s eyes, or at his shoulders and arms. With Jules, it’s the way a guy’s rear fits just so in his jeans. Me? I like a guy’s hands, and I’ve always thought David’s were the best. Well, except for Georg’s. Maybe.
David doesn’t look at me, but when I glance over at him he seems totally comfortable, like this is the normal course of events. I try to focus on Heath and the guy he’s arguing with in the movie, but I’ve lost track of what’s going on.
All I can think about is David. And Georg. I mean, doesn’t David know there might be a thing between me and Georg? Is he kidding himself by holding my hand? Everyone else saw the newspaper, so I know he must’ve. He reads it every single day,first, because he’s a natural news junkie, and second, because his dad s in it all the time. (All part of being a powerful Republican lobbyist, Dad once told me when I showed him an article about David’s dad.)
And who am I kidding? There IS a thing between me and Georg, and if I hadn’t been so crazy about the whole “cool it” phone call and had just freaking asked him to clarify things (even though, at the time, given the way our conversation went, I thought it would have sounded bizarre to ask him twice), I wouldn’t be here. Feeling guilty.
Oh. My. God.
I am cheating .
Is this how Mom felt? Totally ripped up inside? Guilty? Or did she even care?
Because even though I know I love Georg, I’m feeling a total pull toward David. A normal girl wouldn’t drool over a guy like I’ve drooled over David, then decide to yank her hand away when he finally holds it, would she?
Or when he tightens his fingers around hers, the way David’s doing now? Because it feels really, REALLY good.
Maybe it’s just that I’m not a normal girl.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he leans over and whispers. “I missed you, Winslow.”
“Thanks—”
And then I feel it. Just the softest, most romantic kiss, right next to my ear. And I have no idea if this is a good thing—the thing I’ve wanted forever and can now get—or if it’s the worst thing possible.
Seven
I am so glad we’re in the back row of the theater and no one can see us without turning around and being obvious. With my luck, a reporter flew over from Schwerinborg and followed me into the Heath flick so he could snap a few more pictures. Or worse, maybe there’s a private eye lurking in here. Someone hired by Steffi, because that’s just the sort of thing nasty girls on soap operas always do when they want to get back at the nice girls. They make it their life’s mission to prove the nice girls aren’t so nice.
Steffi watches soaps. Lots of them. I think imitating soap opera bitches is howshe became the evil demon spawn that she is.
Okay, I know my mind is going from highly unlikely possibilities (reporter) to downright whacked possibilities (Steffi), but given what’s happened to me in the last few months, and what’s happening right now …
I turn to give David a friendly warning look to discourage further kissing, since even though I like it, it’s WRONG, but before I can get a word out, he leans in, his lips meet mine, and he’s kissing me. This time, for real.
So I kiss him back.
Really, what can I do? I mean, he’s RIGHT THERE. And the kissing’s not bad.
In fact, it’s actually pretty good. Deliberate and kind of daring, since Christie and Jeremy are sitting on my other side, plus who knows who else might get up to go pee and see us, since this theater’s the closest one to Vienna West High School. But it’s obvious from the way David’s kissing me that he doesn’t intend to have one of those grope-heavy sessions you always see other teenagers engaging induring the movies. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, David has more taste and class than that.
I guess, since his father’s a semi-public figure, he’s learned the tabloid
Most of my friends look at a guy’s eyes, or at his shoulders and arms. With Jules, it’s the way a guy’s rear fits just so in his jeans. Me? I like a guy’s hands, and I’ve always thought David’s were the best. Well, except for Georg’s. Maybe.
David doesn’t look at me, but when I glance over at him he seems totally comfortable, like this is the normal course of events. I try to focus on Heath and the guy he’s arguing with in the movie, but I’ve lost track of what’s going on.
All I can think about is David. And Georg. I mean, doesn’t David know there might be a thing between me and Georg? Is he kidding himself by holding my hand? Everyone else saw the newspaper, so I know he must’ve. He reads it every single day,first, because he’s a natural news junkie, and second, because his dad s in it all the time. (All part of being a powerful Republican lobbyist, Dad once told me when I showed him an article about David’s dad.)
And who am I kidding? There IS a thing between me and Georg, and if I hadn’t been so crazy about the whole “cool it” phone call and had just freaking asked him to clarify things (even though, at the time, given the way our conversation went, I thought it would have sounded bizarre to ask him twice), I wouldn’t be here. Feeling guilty.
Oh. My. God.
I am cheating .
Is this how Mom felt? Totally ripped up inside? Guilty? Or did she even care?
Because even though I know I love Georg, I’m feeling a total pull toward David. A normal girl wouldn’t drool over a guy like I’ve drooled over David, then decide to yank her hand away when he finally holds it, would she?
Or when he tightens his fingers around hers, the way David’s doing now? Because it feels really, REALLY good.
Maybe it’s just that I’m not a normal girl.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he leans over and whispers. “I missed you, Winslow.”
“Thanks—”
And then I feel it. Just the softest, most romantic kiss, right next to my ear. And I have no idea if this is a good thing—the thing I’ve wanted forever and can now get—or if it’s the worst thing possible.
Seven
I am so glad we’re in the back row of the theater and no one can see us without turning around and being obvious. With my luck, a reporter flew over from Schwerinborg and followed me into the Heath flick so he could snap a few more pictures. Or worse, maybe there’s a private eye lurking in here. Someone hired by Steffi, because that’s just the sort of thing nasty girls on soap operas always do when they want to get back at the nice girls. They make it their life’s mission to prove the nice girls aren’t so nice.
Steffi watches soaps. Lots of them. I think imitating soap opera bitches is howshe became the evil demon spawn that she is.
Okay, I know my mind is going from highly unlikely possibilities (reporter) to downright whacked possibilities (Steffi), but given what’s happened to me in the last few months, and what’s happening right now …
I turn to give David a friendly warning look to discourage further kissing, since even though I like it, it’s WRONG, but before I can get a word out, he leans in, his lips meet mine, and he’s kissing me. This time, for real.
So I kiss him back.
Really, what can I do? I mean, he’s RIGHT THERE. And the kissing’s not bad.
In fact, it’s actually pretty good. Deliberate and kind of daring, since Christie and Jeremy are sitting on my other side, plus who knows who else might get up to go pee and see us, since this theater’s the closest one to Vienna West High School. But it’s obvious from the way David’s kissing me that he doesn’t intend to have one of those grope-heavy sessions you always see other teenagers engaging induring the movies. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, David has more taste and class than that.
I guess, since his father’s a semi-public figure, he’s learned the tabloid
Similar Books
